


Posturing and Prose

by citrusorgans



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Banter, Canon Rewrite, Crushes, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Flirting, Fluff, Fred Weasley Lives, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-13 05:33:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29521611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/citrusorgans/pseuds/citrusorgans
Summary: “It has been quite a wild year. We hated each other, we fell in love, funny how life turns around like that.”“I’m going to shove these potatoes down your throat.”
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Fred Weasley
Comments: 74
Kudos: 103





	1. Repulsion

**Author's Note:**

> hi everyone! it's been a while... I've been working on this since November and it's been a wonderful labor of love.
> 
> i really hope you enjoy this story. i had a lot of fun exploring this possible dynamic between Hermione and Fred, so i hope you'll stick with these stubborn kids long enough to see them fall in love! -no spoilers!!!- :0
> 
> i've decided to post this in chunks as opposed to taking multiple years to complete it before revealing it to the public. the first two chapters are pretty quick, and chapter 3 should be the normal length for each chapter going forward. I'm about halfway through the first draft of chapter 4, and I'll post it after its beta read. :) 
> 
> my love for my beta reader, [raquians](https://archiveofourown.org/users/raquians) and her amazing [canon rewrite](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17975480) definitely sparked the inspiration for this fic. :)
> 
> thank you all for your continued support on my other Fremione fics! if you like my work, be sure to share it with your friends and followers! 
> 
> please go ahead and follow my [art tumblr](https://lemkid.tumblr.com) for updates, and i also post [Fremione Fanart](https://lemkid.tumblr.com/tagged/fremione) there!
> 
> i love you all. please enjoy!!!

_“A Galleon on Hufflepuff, mate.”_

Hermione glared down at her arm. The fine, black script ran across her tendon. She’d memorized every loop, every trace of its mark. Her mother told her it was special, that she’d been lucky to have been born with it. Some people had to wait years, she said, and others might never get one. 

Hermione didn’t feel lucky. Who could be proud of a soul mark so ridiculous? Nonsense words and fragmented grammar… She had hoped her soul mate would be a bit more eloquent. 

Her mother had a beautiful soul mark. It was on her chest, right above her heart. Hermione’s father chose his first words to her mother very carefully, as was customary. 

_“Before stars and sky, I dream my words well enough to grace your skin.”_

Hermione adored those words. Before she could even read properly, she would spend hours in her mother’s arms. Pressing her small fingertips along the warmth of her mother’s skin, Hermione would carefully repeat each letter until they fit into her tiny brain as easily as if they were a lullaby.

She liked to pretend they were her own. As she grew and found the familiar comfort of words in fairytale books, leatherbound and elegant, she’d daydream of a prince. Beautifully dark and dressed for a ball, he would take her hand and bow deeply. His voice was smooth and sturdy, confident and dreamy.

_“Before the stars and sky…”_

The dream fit so vividly in her mind. The ideal vision of romance, the perfect words for a perfect meeting. Hermione would have it no other way.

But then she’d look down at her arm, and the mark that stained her felt crude and inadequate. On her worst days, she despised the person who would dare speak to her so stupidly. At best, she was utterly confused. 

What was a Galleon? A _Hufflepuff_? Hermione would be embarrassed to admit the hours she had spent reading and researching anything even close to their definition. By the age of ten, she had exhausted the town library of its collection of books on dialects, taxonomy, regional vernacular, and everything in between. She poured over books because there _must be something_. Someone had to know why these nonsensical words had scarred her body. Someone had to _know_. She ended with nothing but a fervent reading addiction to show for it.

Her parents did their best at comforting her. Her tearful confusion at the injustice of her mark’s existence left her parents to do nothing but soothe. They couldn’t promise her elegance, nor grace. A foolish mark left souls scorned. Their daughter deserved the best, a mark to match her intelligence. 

Hermione would cry, fearing the thought of a delusional soul mate. She could do nothing but cling to that desperate daydream; A prince speaking the perfect mark. _“Before the stars and sky…”_

❖

The tall woman in a pointed hat arrived when she turned eleven. Hermione listened intently as the professor told her of witches and wizards and magic and spells and books—oh, yes, books—with which Hermione would be acquainted. She followed Professor McGonagall through Diagon Alley with wide, captivated eyes. 

“Right, take this, then.” The professor placed a leather bag in her hand. “This is your allowance for the books and robes you will need.”

Hermione felt the weighty pouch and opened it in awe. She took a gold coin between her fingers.

“Hogwarts provides all its Muggle First-Year Students with a small scholarship for supplies until your parents can obtain the correct currency.” McGonagall led her past shops of ironwork and parchment. “The Wizarding World uses three types of coins, Knuts, Sickles, and Galleons. Their Muggle equivalents are—”

Hermione had dropped the pouch suddenly. She stood, shocked.

“Goodness,” McGonagall tutted. Hermione quickly snapped to pick up the pouch, fumbling over the words she spoke next.

“Did you say _Galleon_?” She nearly shouted.

“I did, yes.” The professor startled.

“Galleons are these coins?” Hermione held up the leather pouch.

“One of three, as I told you.” McGonagall’s lips pursed as she looked down at her. “The larger ones made of gold are called Galleons, while the silver—”

“What’s a Hufflepuff?” Hermione did not blink as she stared up at Professor McGonagall, expression more serious than one would expect to fit the face of a little girl.

The professor baulked at this. She looked to be considering whether the young witch had a few Knuts of her own out of place. “Helga Hufflepuff was one of the founders of Hogwarts. We have Houses named for the four.” She went on to answer Hermione slowly. “So, if anything, ‘a Hufflepuff’ would be a student of that house, if that is what you mean?”

The tears that filled Hermione's eyes released like a long breath. She brought her fingers up, touching her cheeks as if to ground her.

“Child, whatever’s the matter?” McGonagall swiftly bent down to attend to her, clearly flustered.

“It’s nothing, no, I’m sorry.” Hermione sniffled, a smile creasing her small face. “It’s just… My mark.”

With a breath, Hermione pulled back the fabric of her sleeve, displaying the script on her arm that seemed a thousand times more beautiful than it ever had before.

McGonagall examined the writing.

“Ah yes,” she let out a curt breath. “I see.” 

“I had no idea what it meant.” Hermione laughed at herself, wiping away her tears. “I thought my soul mate must be mad.” She exhaled, adjusting to her new relief. “I’m so happy they are at least talking about real things.”

Hermione felt the tension of the older woman’s stare. McGonagall held her shoulders, and her voice came as an anchor. 

“Soul marks are peculiar things. Even to the Wizarding World, we have yet to uncover the scope of their secrets. I’ve met a lot of children who have let the subject of their soul mark torment them. And to that point, many full-grown wizards. It is perfectly normal to lament over the state of your destiny.”

Hermione nodded as the professor finished her consoling. Fearing she may have ruined her first impression, Hermione regained her composure.

“Thank you, Professor.” She patted her cheeks, hoping to straighten out the colour. “I’m sorry for crying.” 

“It’s no worry, dear.” McGonagall nodded firmly, the term of endearment sounding out of place for her stern disposition. “Your soulmate is likely from the Wizarding World, a wizard or a witch. I’m sure you will meet them soon enough.” McGonagall stood to her full height.

Hermione looked out to the crowd of people, at colourful robes and flowing hair. Sparks of magic flew through the air and owls fluttered overhead. Was her soulmate here now? Would she know them when she saw them?

“Now, let’s get a move on.” The professor’s sharp demeanour returned as she began walking toward a vibrant shop window. “Come along, Miss Granger.”

Hermione followed in step. As she walked along the cobbled street, she gazed at the array of colours surrounding her. The wonderful smells and amazing sounds… Hermione felt dizzying excitement. For the first time in her life, she knew something _important_. Her soul mate was a part of this beautiful new world. A wizard? How _truly_ magical! Better than a fairy tale. Better than a handsome prince.

❖

A castle. A huge, beautiful castle and Hermione was about to spend seven wonderful, amazing years inside it. Her smile spread across her face, wider than it had ever been, as she and her classmates—Witches and wizards, just like _her!_ —floated towards Hogwarts.

The Great Hall sparkled with life. Four expansive tables stretched the length of its golden light. Hermione felt her nervous excitement carry her all the way up to the Sorting stool. She sat, patient and well-behaved, as she awaited her house assignment.

The fabric fell softly over her head. Hermione heard a chuckle, one radiating through her brain. A voice followed in croaking tones.

_“I must say, I’m quite a fan of your mark.”_

Hermione’s stomach dropped. She felt the instinctive need to pull her arm close to her body.

_“Oh, not to worry, I’m not making fun of it. It’s… different. But, oh... no, you don’t like that about it, do you?”_

Hermione swallowed.

_“You think your mark should be smarter? Prettier? You think you know better than the stars who chose your mate for you?”_

_I don’t—_

_“You don’t need to lie, Miss Granger. I see it all here. You’re brilliant. You know you are. Though there are many, many things you have yet to figure out.”_

Hermione sat in silence as the hat spoke. She felt it pour through her memories, her thoughts, and fears. She felt the weight of it as her entire being was examined. Her forearm burned.

“GRYFFINDOR!”

When the hat spoke aloud, she felt relief. Hermione strode toward the crowd of cheering students, happy to be free of the prying eye of the Sorting Hat.

The Gryffindor table was so welcoming. About a dozen upperclassmen congratulated her and offered their adjoining seat. She found a spot between a pair of girls, who beamed and introduced themselves as Katie and Angelina. As the ceremony continued, Hermione felt the rush of excitement settle. She heard a muttered conversation behind her but ignored it as the next student was sorted. 

Another Gryffindor joined them at the table, and it was only then that Hermione noticed the interruption. She heard two boys whispering to each other. Hermione thought that rather inconsiderate, as everyone around her kept a steady focus on the Sorting. She heard a chuckle and a muffled snort that sounded anything but friendly. She flicked her hair over her shoulder, determined to ignore the snickering.

“Oh, Ravenclaw, _definitely._ ” The first voice said, barely at a whisper. “Check out that snooty scowl.”

There was a gasping sound that could be mistaken for a laugh from the other boy. They were really making no attempts to keep quiet.

Hermione huffed. She felt a nudge on her shoulder as Angelina leaned close to her.

“Don’t mind them.” She whispered, cocking her head towards the boys. 

“Well, they’re being quite _rude_ ,” Hermione pointedly spoke the last word a bit louder. The boys made no indication that they heard her.

Angelina shrugged. “Yeah, well, I had to deal with them all last year during Quidditch. Those are the Weasley twins, Fred and George. Their older brother’s a bit of a pratt, but these two really love making fools of themselves. They’re always doing stuff like this.”

“What are they even doing?” Hermione frowned.

“Betting.” Katie joined in. “On who gets into which house. They did this for the whole ceremony last year. Stupid.” She scoffed.

“They’re fine blokes.” Angelina defended. “Hell of a pair on the field, too. But… yeah…they get up to trouble.”

So, a pair of thickheaded jocks. Great. Hermione rolled her eyes. 

The twins continued to whisper together, laughter and volume increasing with every new student. With new Gryffindors, they cheered and shouted. Every new girl got a catcall. They snickered from their huddle of mischief, and Hermione felt her annoyance rise. 

The ceremony was almost finished, with only a handful of students to go. Hermione was sure if she steeled herself, she’d be able to ignore them and the rest of the night would go on smoothly. No big deal.

“A Galleon on Hufflepuff, mate.”

A rock seemed to fall through the pit of Hermione’s stomach. She whipped around fully to look at the face of the boy who had spoken. The one who had uttered _those words_. She saw his stupid grin, his erratic freckles, his lengthy neck. She saw the horrid, obnoxious face of her soul mate.

_No._

The twin saw her staring at him. “Can I help you?”

Hermione did not move. She wouldn’t speak. Speaking would be terrible. Speaking the wrong thing could be the _right thing_ and he would _know_. He would know she was _his_ and he was _hers_ and she’d be _stuck_. She’d be stuck with this nasty boy. This not-prince-charming. This… mistake.

So, she couldn’t speak. Maybe not ever. 

“What?” The twin’s expression twisted into a frown.

“Fred,” his brother nudged him. “Let her be. She’s obviously captivated by our beauty.”

Hermione looked between the two of them. The one who had just spoken winked at her, but she wasn’t paying attention. Her eyes bore holes into that boy—that _Fred_ —who dared to look back at her with bemused disinterest. 

She felt her body seize up, every muscle in her jaw clenched tightly. She stared up at the boy, his tall form towering over her. She felt helpless, unsure of her next move. This could not be him. Her mate, destined by stars and transcending time. This gangly boy, this loud and insufferable ridiculous redhead was not her prince.

She glared, hoping that her piercing gaze was enough to disintegrate him. He squinted at her, then ultimately deciding she wasn’t worth his attention and turned back to his brother. Hermione felt angry tears prick at the corner of her eyes. She felt a defeated emptiness for the remainder of the Ceremony. 

She cried curled up in her blankets that night.

Angelina came to her bedside when she heard the noise.

“Hey, now.” The upperclassman held Hermione’s hand as she sobbed. “It’s alright. The first night is always the hardest.”

So Hermione cried. For her shattered hopes. For this new world that was so foreign to her, so overwhelmingly gigantic. For the black mark on her left forearm. Hermione cried. 

She would hide it. For the rest of her life if she needed to. Surely there would be magic spells to remove it, or even disguise it. At least a long sleeve would do the trick until then. Hermione felt the writing on her arm. Though it stayed there under her shirt, innocuous and unchanging, it burned. 

❖

She made the decision that morning before the other girls had awoken. Hermione took the quill she had bought—with her magical money, on her magical trip to the magical stores of Diagon Alley—and wrote on the skin of her wrist. Something simple, unquestionable.

“ _Hello.”_

_“Hello.”_

_“Hello.”_

She traced over it again and again until the ink shone pure on her dark skin.

If she repeated it enough, would she find a prince to speak it to her?

❖

Ron Weasley, as it turned out, was somehow worse than his twin brothers. Hermione did not think she could detest the Weasleys any more than she already did. Why were those boys so awful? Percy scared her. He was too loud, and he was always yelling at the other first years. Ron was so cruel to her, always mumbling to Harry Potter about what a know-it-all she was... And the twins seemed to have a practical joke ready for every little moment of peace she could find. Hermione thought things in this beautiful new world couldn’t get any worse.

But then she was fearing for her life, trapped in a stall while a mountain troll destroyed the bathroom.

Hermione could not believe a Weasley would save her. She couldn’t possibly ignore Ron after that. 

And the more invested she became in her studies, the more she understood Percy’s frustration for anyone disturbing quiet hours.

...And she even caught a glimpse of kindness from George on occasion.

Plus, Ron said his older brother Charlie raised dragons…

So maybe disliking the whole family because of one bad egg wasn’t the best idea, but Hermione absolutely refused to give Fred Weasley any benefit of the doubt.

She was so careful not to talk around him. Ever. Even _near_ him. She would see a glance of him approaching their table at lunch, and she would stop mid-sentence.

“What?” Harry asked the first time it happened. She’d been lecturing him and Ron about their missing homework, and Ron nudged his shoulder.

“Look at her, she’s popped a fuse, is what.” Ron shook his head. “I knew she’d get tired of telling us off eventually.

Hermione cast Ron a stern look but was careful not to turn her attention in any specific direction. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the taller boys walk behind her, rapt in conversation with Katie and Lee.

The group passed without incident, and Hermione let out the breath she had been holding. 

“It doesn’t matter.” She finalized.

“That’s it?” Harry bunched his eyebrows together. “You’re not mad at us anymore?”

“No, Harry, I’m not.” Hermione clasped her hands together. “Honestly, I shouldn’t have to tell the two of you anything. If you fail your Transfiguration exam, that is _not_ my problem. I’m heading off to class.” She rose from the table, leaving her friends in confused silence. She glanced behind her, catching sight of Fred as he laughed at something Katie said. Hermione hoped he could feel her contempt.


	2. Resentment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yall remember how charming and lovely 14-year-old boys were? yeah me neither.

After an eventful final term of nearly dying by the hands of You-Know-Who himself, Hermione was content with focusing on school work, and nothing else, for the rest of her time at Hogwarts. No Dark wizards, or soul marks, or nasty, tall, redheaded boys. 

This goal was appearing harder to uphold as she became closer with the youngest Weasley sibling. Hermione met Ginny her first night in the tower. She was so sweet, once again leaving Hermione to wonder how Fred had managed to end up the odd one out in such a lovely family. Hermione talked her down from her first-night anxieties and became a regular source of comfort for the younger girl. Ginny opened up to Hermione about her soul mark, and how it matched the first words spoken to her by Harry Potter.

“I don’t know what to do about it.” Ginny wrung her hands together.

Hermione watched her pace around the dormitories. “Well, does he know?”

“No, no. I haven’t told him.” Ginny landed soundly on the bed next to her. “I haven’t even… _spoken to him_ … I’m scared to! What if he doesn’t want me?” She groaned and laid her arm over her face. “Harry _freaking_ Potter… The boy who _lived_! How can I even compare to that...”

“Hey,” Hermione nudged Ginny affectionately. “There is _no way_ Harry is better than you. The boy doesn’t even remember to put on socks half the time.”

Ginny laughed.

“Trust me, you’re fine. You’re funny and smart and you might even like Quidditch more than he does.”

“...I do love Quidditch a lot,” Ginny mumbled. 

“You’ll be fine. Whatever you say to him will be perfect. That’s the great thing about soul marks. You can make them _anything._ ”

“What’s yours?”

Hermione felt like she’d been yanked at the stomach. She held a cool expression while displaying the mark on her wrist. The faux ink remained where she had set it in its proper place that morning. 

“It’s way simple.” Hermione reduced, trying to cover her wrist quickly and unnoticed. “I really wish I could have something special.”

“That must be tricky.” Ginny nodded. “I bet introductions drive you crazy.”

“Yeah…” Hermione wanted to shift the conversation. “You’re lucky to have a name to go with yours.”

“‘ _Hi, I’m Harry.’_ What a loser!” Ginny exclaimed. “His first words to someone and they are _so generic!_ Oh, no offence.”

Hermione laughed. “No, I agree! It’s like he doesn’t understand how important they are!”

Ginny shook her head, out of breath. “Do you think he would even notice if I spoke his mark?”

“You might have to repeat it a few times for it to sink in.” Hermione and Ginny giggled together, deciding the problem would solve itself soon enough.

❖

Hermione had gotten very good at telling the twins apart. Out of necessity, of course. Her innate fear for survival bought her attention to every detail between the two boys. 

Fred was shorter, by barely an inch. (Though this distinction only worked when the two of them were standing right next to each other.) Fred’s hand gestures were more dramatic. He had a darker patch of freckles below his left eye. He liked to run his hands through his hair while he talked. He leaned on his right leg most often when he stood. He had a birthmark on his left wrist. 

She could talk to George, but never when he was with Fred. And she made sure to continue conversations only after Fred had left the room. She could write him letters demanding an end to their prank-of-the-week, no problem. She could scoff at him. She could shake her head disapprovingly. She had gotten very good at scolding him with only a single look. And despite all of that, Fred still managed to find a way to trap her attention.

“Oh, careful, George,” Fred would look to her after Hermione would overhear their common room conversations and have a _tsk_ escape her teeth. “Better keep our scheming to ourselves, lest we receive a harshly-worded letter.”

He was lucky she didn’t send him a Howler.

She figured out that she could laugh around him after one heart-stopping mistake. 

Fred was funny, sure. Hermione knew that Fred certainly _thought_ he was funny. So when she overheard him going after a very convincing impression of Professor Binns, Hermione couldn’t hold back a giggle.

The impression stopped immediately.

“Well, that’s a lovely laugh.” Fred, to Hermione’s horror, had turned in his chair to face her. He grinned at her. “Don’t think I’ve ever heard it from you, Granger.”

“Didn’t think she _could_ laugh,” George smirked.

“My goodness, was that your first one?” Fred put a hand to his chest, aghast. “And it was for something _I did?_ I am so deeply honoured. To crack the icy shell of Hermione Granger’s stoic judgment is such a blessing.”

Hermione glared across the common room at that stupid cheeky grin. She stuck out her tongue and turned back to her book.

“Pfft.” Fred scoffed. “Must have been a trick of the ear. I don’t think she’s physically capable of having any fun.”

“C’mon Fred,” Katie shoved his shoulder. “Lay off.”

“Whatever. It’s not my fault she can’t take a joke.”

“Mate,” George’s tone lowered.

Hermione fumed. She felt so trapped, unable to snap back anything to her defence. She slammed her book shut. The whole group of friends had their attention on her, everyone but Fred looking surprised. Fred stared, surly expression tainting his symmetrical features.

Hermione rose to her feet. She glared at him, a wave of indignation biting at the base of her tongue. Hermione gave a final exhale before turning and leaving it where it simmered. 

She hated him. She truly, deeply hated her soulmate.

❖

Sneaking into the Restricted Section of the library was not a habit Hermione liked to admit to. She’d done it several times last year, and reluctantly had Madam Pince’s routines well memorized. So when students were getting petrified, Hermione was ready to break out with her best form of attack: relentless research. She needed their Polyjuice ready before the holidays, and things were getting desperate as Harry’s suspicion of Malfoy doubled by the day. 

Hermione tip-toed down the halls to the library, the dark castle concealing her path. She unlocked the latch of the heavy door quietly. When the gates of the Restricted Section sealed behind her, Hermione let out a breath. She began her search, through the rows of shelves and along columns of scripted spines. The words blurred together in a pattern of _Dark Spells, Dark Wizards, Dark Jynxes,_ and _Dark Darks._ Hermione felt no closer to locating what she needed when she heard a scuffle around the bookshelf ahead of her. She froze, cursing herself for not being more thorough in checking for people. But it was past midnight on a Tuesday, who could possibly be here with her?

She inched around the corner and her heart leapt to her throat. 

A red head of hair. 

George.

“ _What_ are you doing here?!” Hermione hissed low. 

The taller twin jumped with a yelp of surprise, faltering when he recognised her. “Merlin,” He exhaled. “Granger, you nearly gave me a heart attack.”

"Where is the _other one_?" Hermione looked around, frantically searching for the matching set of ginger. 

“I don’t know what you mean,” George creased his eyebrows at her. “No one here but me! You know, a lot of people like to _think_ I have a twin, but it’s just me, moving really, really fast.”

Hermione ignored him and tried to step past. He held up a hand to block her way.

“Woah, now, hang on.” George shook his head. “First things first, what are _you_ doing here?”

“I have a better right to be here than _you_.” Hermione defended in shaky confidence.

“We’re upperclassmen!” George shot back. “If anything, _we_ are more allowed to be here than some second year.”

“Then why are you acting so suspicious?” Hermione poked him in the chest.

“Why are _you?!_ ” George swatted her hand away.

“None of your business,” Hermione growled through gritted teeth. 

“Then _ours_ is none of yours, either.”

“What is _she_ doing here?” Fred’s voice came from behind her, and she nearly screamed.

"Granger wants us out of here," George told his twin over Hermione’s shoulder.

"Oh, does she now?" Fred put his hands in his pockets, a thick book perched under his arm.

"And won’t give the satisfaction of explaining why she, herself, was even here to begin with." George shook his head, disappointed.

"Well, that seems like a fair question," Fred loomed over her. “C’mon, Granger, out with it.”

Hermione fumed. She jerked her head back at George, then up at Fred. She huffed in frustration. Her stifled defence burned the back of her throat.

“Hm.” Fred’s smirk fell. “Unfortunate.” He brushed past her. “Guess we’ll have to tell McGonagall her favourite student snuck out of the common room for no reason, then.”

George’s teasing expression fell. He glanced at Fred but said nothing.

“Well, we can’t have her ratting us out, now, can we?” Fred shrugged.

Hermione felt nervous tears build in her cheeks. He was awful. So, so, terribly awful. 

“C’mon George.” Fred turned to leave, his twin in step behind him.

Hermione panicked. Her arm extended before she could think straight and she grabbed Fred’s wrist. He stopped in his tracks and furrowed his eyebrows at her. 

“What?” He scowled. 

The tears that pricked her big, brown eyes threatened to fall. She glared up at _that boy_ , praying to convey every word she wanted to yell at him. She could do nothing but shake her head softly, pleading.

The flicker of humanity that crossed Fred’s face was brief, and Hermione wasn’t sure she even saw it at all in the low light of the candles. He stared down at her while Hermione’s hold on his wrist did not waver. A decision seemed to settle behind his eyes. He shook her hold off of him.

“Fine,” said Fred in a callous tone. “Just don’t get in our way again.”

George sent his brother a look of mild surprise. When it was met with a dismissive shake of the head, George turned to Hermione. 

“Stay sharp, Granger,” said George in casual farewell. He followed Fred down the rows of books, leaving Hermione alone in the dark. 

Hermione took a few long, deep breaths to settle the adrenaline in her veins. The steady pulse of frustration had been interrupted by a new feeling of relief. She felt a bit dizzy. To think that Fred Weasley was capable of showing even the slightest bit of kindness sent her mind reeling. She half-expected him to rat her out anyway, but a part of her knew better. Though terrible and cruel, Fred would keep his word. 

Hermione wondered for a moment how she knew that so surely. The wonder was quickly extinguished as the creaking floorboards around the corner shocked her back to reality. She’d barely made it out of the Restricted Section before Mrs Norris made her nightly rounds to the library.


	3. Caution

Her first holiday with the Weasleys was exhausting. She had only been at the Leaky Cauldron with them for a week before term, but already her energy was spent. The twins had been in the sun all summer and Hermione was finding it very hard to count the difference in freckles between Fred and George, as they seemed to sprout up a hundred more of them. It was a constant ordeal of tracking and detail-checking and confusing left with right and birthmarks in the lighting and honestly, Hermione tired of it all so often that she just wouldn’t bother talking at all around either of them. 

The close proximity also made it harder than ever to keep up conversations. She’d jump at the sound of the floorboards creaking, seeing a head of red hair (difficult enough with so many Weasleys about) round the steps and leave whoever she had been talking to with dead air.

She noticed his growth spurt. Both Fred and George now towered a strong foot over her, though Fred still lingered behind an inch. 

His hair was longer, too. It fell in front of his eyes so often that Hermione was annoyed by his constant flipping and fidgeting with it. Fred in casual clothing was also jarring. She found herself staring often, like her brain thought it odd of him to be in anything but a lazily-buttoned uniform. 

He and George wore variations of the same outfits. Fred liked blues in contrast to George’s greens. Hermione noted that it was hard to keep a jumper on Fred, as he could often be found with it tied loosely around his waist. 

Fred was never happy to see her, and she could definitively say the same. She was, obviously, careful to never be caught alone with him, but a bump of unfortunately timed trips to the hallway had them glaring at each other from door frames. 

Fred looked at her with defensive trepidation. 

Hermione stared at him like he was the reason for her fitful night’s rest.

“Granger…” Fred gripped the bag he was holding.

Hermione glanced down at his shirt and decided that she was annoyed with the uneven bend of his collar.

He frowned. “What?”

He narrowed his gaze. He gave her another breath to explain herself, but she simply shook her head. He rolled his eyes before turning down the hall with the posture of a bitter alley cat. 

He was avoiding her at meals, the only true time they were forced in the same room together. This would have been an easy feat were it not for the undeniable existence of a very persistent mother. Mrs Weasley caught Fred before he could run up the stairs to his room.

“Fred!” His mother yelled to him. “Come down and join us for dinner!”

Fred froze mid-step. “I’m not hungry, mum.”

“Nonsense,” Mrs Weasley set down a pair of cutlery. “You already missed your breakfast _and_ lunch and I will not have you starving on my watch.”

Fred glanced down at Hermione, who sat politely next to Ginny as she passed around a plate.

“I’m okay.” He tried again, inching a foot up a step.

“Now Tom has been nice enough to let us stay here for so long,” she called to him, patience thinner than parchment. “The least you could do to show your appreciation is to join the rest of your family for the meal he prepared!” She planted her hand on her hips. 

Fred seemed to be weighing his options. His eyes darted between his mother and George, who had pointedly taken a seat at the table like a good son. Fred looked at Hermione, whose gaze fell to her cup as soon as he locked eyes with her. He gave one final breath before letting out a groan and descending the stairs.

His twin was positioned next to the only empty seat at the table; right next to Hermione.

Fred saw this and approached George with a sour look.

“Trade seats with me.” He demanded.

George raised his eyebrows. “What? Oh, so sorry, dear brother, I’m already _so comfortable,_ ” Fred glared daggers at him. “But you’re welcome to sit next to _Granger_ …”

Hermione’s food suddenly felt stiff in her throat.

Fred glowered, not moving an inch, and seemed to be spelling curses at George with his thoughts. George brushed it all off and took to serving himself dinner.

Mrs Weasley called over the crowd of her family. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Fred! Sit down!” 

Fred swallowed the lump in his throat that may have been his pride and grabbed the chair beside Hermione.

His movements were rigid, and he refused to look at her. Hermione felt the shards of ice radiating off his shoulder. The rest of the table continued on their business, unaware of the thick air surrounding the two of them.

George took to happily putting together a plate for Fred, settling it in front of him with a flourish. 

“Can’t have you starving,” George repeated his mother’s words with a coo.

Fred shot a look at his brother as Hermione picked at her beans.

He jabbed his fork into his meal, and the evening continued between them in deafening silence. Fred extended a hand to reach for the salt, and George let out a gasp.

"Why, Fred, how very rude of you!” George shook his head. “Apologize to Hermione for reaching over her!"

Fred gaped at George, but he held up a finger before he could protest. Fred huffed, incredulous. He mumbled something indistinguishable.

“What was that?” George extended a palm to his ear.

Fred turned to Hermione, eyes closed and expression irritated. “I’m. Sorry.” The words came out in chunks. Hermione felt a laugh try and sneak through her.

“Good boy.” George looked at the smirk Hermione wore and gave her a wink. Hermione turned back to her meal, somehow a bit more content with the way Fred squirmed in his seat. 

Surely another year of this would be easier to manage.

❖

The suddenly overwhelming amount of double-work she had to catch up on left Hermione alone in the common room while the rest of Gryffindor House was out enjoying a Quidditch match against Hufflepuff. Feeling guilty about having to tell Harry and Ron she would miss it, she promised to listen to every detail they would relay to her after the match.

The portrait hole opened exactly as Hermione had expected it to: loud and suddenly. A wave of celebratory Gryffindors charged into the common room. 

She looked up to see Harry leading a crowd of gold and red. She returned her quill to its bottle of ink as Harry moved to her table.

“Hermione!” He beamed. “We won! 120-to-80!”

“Congratulations!” Hermione smiled.

Ron hurried beside him. “Harry nearly broke his neck diving for the snitch.”

“Harry,” She admonished.

“ _Nearly_!” Harry defended. “I’m alright! It wasn’t _that_ dangerous.”

“Yeah, but it was still cool as hell.” Ron laughed, swinging an arm around his friend.

The students around Harry all roared in victorious approval. His teammates slapped him on the back and gripped his arm. 

“It was incredible!” Oliver sounded off, pride in his voice. “Harry, keep up the good work.” 

“Amazing,” Angelina ruffled Harry’s already-tousled hair.

There was commotion from the back of the crowd. A chant had been started by two redheads bobbing through the swarm of raised voices and jumping celebration.

Hermione was disoriented, there were too many people. She only caught a glimpse of what was about to happen before disaster. She saw him. Fred, with his arm in the air, gambolling around the room. Hermione’s instincts kicked as she registered the weight of Fred’s body heading for her table. The open ink bottle jostled dangerously close to her essay. She shouted before she knew what she was doing.

“Fred, no!” 

Her voice rang clear over chanting and singing, and she knew there was no way he didn’t hear her.

The redhead froze, his arm mid-swing and leg off-balance. Fred turned to look at Hermione with an expression of peculiar recognition.

“Oh, watch out, mate,” George noticed his brother’s proximity to the table. He steadied Fred, unaware of the scene he was interrupting.

Hermione kept her eyes locked with Fred for no more than a second. She swallowed, cutting off the lump in her throat as he stared at her. She felt the mistake anchor her to her chair. She needed, so desperately, to move on. With a sudden hand, she grabbed her ink bottle.

“You nearly ruined my homework.” Hermione’s voice was deliberately even. Her eyes darted away from him as if breaking their contact would undo what she’d done. Whatever moment he _thought_ they shared would need to be ignored. She quickly grabbed her quill and gestured to the paper. “I’ve been working on it all night, Fred Weasley!”

Fred looked like he’d just surfaced for air. “What?” He looked down at his footing and took a step back. “Oh. Sorry, Granger…” 

The commotion continued around them, and their interaction went unnoticed easily. Even George had moved on to join the rest of the party. They were alone in a room full of people. 

“You know, you should really be more careful.” Hermione straightened her parchment pointedly. She felt her heart race and hoped her shaking hands wouldn’t give her away.

Fred continued to stand there, looking from Hermione to the table, to his feet. His palm rubbed at the base of his neck. He caught her eye again.

“What?” Hermione said, expression exaggerating exasperation.

“Sorry, I, er…” Fred floundered. “I just don’t think I’ve heard you talk this much. Ever.”

Hermione’s chest ached. “There’s a first time for everything. Now, if you would excuse me—” She pulled her bag over her shoulder, searching for the quickest path to the dormitories.

“Wait,” Fred held out his hand, blocking her exit. “Wait, just a sec… What, er, what did you say your soul mark was?”

“I didn’t.” Hermione’s face flushed red. “And, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get up to my room so I can finish my work away from any other potential _accidents_. Move, please.” She pushed past his hands, keeping her gaze straight ahead and leaving a gawking redhead behind her.

Hermione slammed the dormitory door behind her, planting her back stiffly against it. She took a second to breathe, then found a flow of tears bursting from her eyes. She felt the weight of their interaction pound at her chest, wracking her body with every breath. She curled onto the floor, alone and vulnerable. 

She messed up. So, so bad. She’d ruined everything and now she had to deal with the impending doom of that horrible boy claiming her. Hermione sniffled, taking her sleeve and wiping it across her face. She grabbed her quill where she had thrown it to the floor. With shaking hands, she dragged it across her wrist. 

_“Hello.”_

_“Hello.”_

_“Hello.”_

The ink seemed to fight her all the way.

❖

At the library. Business as usual. Hermione could relax. She could organize her thoughts and have a bit more control over everything. She folded into a thick tome in the back of the room. The shelves nestled her against the world. Sat in her favourite reading chair, she enjoyed the solitude. Hermione flipped through the pages of a book on Magical Tattoos, with several random others scattered about to disguise her research. She had to _scorgify_ her wrist that morning. The ink had been left messy and smudged from her fitful night of crying. She neatly redid the looping lines that morning. They now shone back at her with sharp intent. Things were back to normal.

_“Ink made by the dwarves of New Zealand has been the staple for all Wizarding Artists within the last four centuries. Its shape-shifting qualities made it popular during the 1650s when Wizards of the All Together Insurrection needed to disguise their identifiers under imprisonment. This led to—”_

Hermione flipped the page.

_“The needles forged in Austria are easily recognised by their distinctive coil—”_

She skipped ahead.

_“The classic Octuple Pronged Needle was coined in—”_

Hermione let out a groan, leafing through the dense parchment. She honestly didn’t know what she would expect. Even if she could find out how to change her mark, how would she get it done? Would she have to learn how to do it to herself? How could she even convince her parents to send her needles?! 

“Hey.”

Hermione jumped. She had not heard anyone approach, and when she looked up she realized the gravity of that mistake.

Fred Weasley stood before her, hands in his pockets. Hermione’s pulse skipped, and she quickly shut her book.

She swallowed a lump in her throat before remembering she could speak to him, and that thought made it sink to the pit of her stomach. 

“How did you find me?” Hermione spoke too fast, and only once it left her lips did she realize how incriminating it sounded.

“Were you hiding from me?” Fred asked, his eyebrow quirked.

“Er, no, not just you—” Hermione twisted her eyes shut. “I mean, no, I wasn’t hiding… It’s just that people don’t usually go looking for me.”

“Well,” Fred rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude…”

“You didn’t.” Hermione snapped. A heavy silence fell between them and Hermione wished for another thing to focus on that wasn’t Fred’s eyes. 

“I, Er—”

“Can I—”

Hermione bit her tongue. Fred inhaled, and cut it off just as quick.

“You go first,” He extended a hand to her.

“No, no,” Hermione stammered. “I… You came to see me, you should...”

“Okay, er...” Fred wore an expression of humility that seemed foreign to his features. “I wanted to… apologize. For last night, when I nearly ruined your things.” 

Hermione blinked at him.

“Well. Yes. I would expect so.” She found the nerve to turn back to her books.

“I think I really messed up our interaction last night,” Fred said. 

“Oh, do you think so?” Hermione did not look up from her paper.

“I didn’t mean to offend you. Er, when I asked about your…” Fred stopped. “Nevermind.” He stood a good four feet away from her, awkwardly finding a proper way for his legs to stand.

“Anyway,” He cleared his throat like Hermione hadn’t just heard his voice crack. “I was wondering... You see, I thought… Well, I thought we might have had something in common.”

Hermione did not respond to this. She looked up at him and knit her eyebrows together.

“My soul mark… Er, this is stupid,” Fred shook his head. He ran a hand along his face. “You said my mark.”

Hermione widened her eyes. “I…” She found it hard to meet his gaze. “ I didn’t realize.”

Fred nodded, visibly uncomfortable. “Yeah, nah, it’s not a big deal.”

“Are you sure I said it?” Hermione felt the regrettable cruelty of her question.

Fred tugged at the collar of his shirt. He revealed the black script along the lower curve of his neck. _‘Fred, no!’_

“It’s, er… what you shouted at me before I… you know.”

He seemed desperate to make up for the atmosphere.

“But honestly, it’s not the first time I’ve had people shout that at me, so I don’t know why _you_ would be my…” Fred quickly changed his tone. “Anyway, I was just… curious. So, yeah, sorry. It must have just been a coincidence.”

She had been watching his movements the entire time he talked. Fred would dig his thumb into his palm, then his fingers ran through his hair, then he rubbed his forearm. His hands couldn’t stay in one place.

“Is this why you’ve come to apologize?” Hermione asked. She was decidedly not convinced by his display of submission. “You think I’m your soul mate, so you’re suddenly nice to me?”

“No! Er,” A blush of red-tinted Fred’s freckled ears. “I don’t… I didn’t think that, I just… wanted…" Fred steadied his approach. "Look, I’m a nice guy—”

Hermione scoffed.

“—but I know you don’t see it that way, so I hoped maybe we could… start over?” Fred tried. He saw Hermione’s emotionless features and hung his head.

“Okay. Er..." He ran a hand across his face. He looked at her for a beat, then in what seemed to be an upswing of confidence, he made a decision. He sat in the empty chair beside her, leaning close. Hermione nearly backed away at the intrusion, but Fred was keeping his voice low. The tone felt oddly soothing.

“George and I—Okay, mostly me— have been pretty rough to you. And I _know_ you don’t like the pranks or the skiving off—”

“—or making fun of me—”

“Right, yeah... That too…” Fred admitted. “I know you don’t like me. But I’m asking for a chance. Let me prove to you that I’m a good person. I’ll swear off practical jokes if I have to.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “I doubt you would do that.”

“If it gets you to stop glaring daggers at me in the hall, then yeah. I will.” Fred offered. “And if I don’t… you can tell my mother about everything we’ve ever done at this school.” 

Hermione looked at him. His expression was softer, a strange state in comparison to the sharpened quirks of his usual demeanour. Hermione doubted many things about Fred, nothing could eradicate her mistrust so easily. He was awful, he'd always been. A suddenly delightful Fred seemed as far fetched as Scabbers and Crookshanks getting along. 

But Hermione felt a tug, one she could swear was originating from the ink marring her forearm. Shoving that feeling down took effort, and she was left with a fraction of her heart that felt cautiously curious about Fred Weasley.

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Everything?"

A grin spread on Fred's lips. "Everything."

Hermione found herself smiling back.

“Sound like a deal?” He looked to her softly, pleading.

Hermione took a deep breath. She looked into Fred’s eyes. They shone honey-brown in the sunlight.

“...Fine.”

Fred smiled with relief. 

“I’ll give you _one chance_ to stop being awful to me.” She held up a finger.

“I promise.” He crossed his heart with a finger of his own.

“And...here,” Hermione sighed, extending her wrist to him. “To put your mind at ease,”

She showed him her not-mark, where the quill ink shone against the melanin in her skin. 

“ _”Hello.’_ ” She read to him, carefully casual.

“Hm.” Fred pressed his eyebrows together. “Yeah, that doesn’t sound like me.”

“You can tell from one word?” She raised an eyebrow.

“Too formal,” Fred said. “I want my first words to my soul mate to be amazing. Really stand out, you know? Something that captures the essence of _me_.”

“Oh, I’m sure it will.” She allowed herself a tired laugh.

Fred leaned back in his chair, happy with the break in tension.

“Seems fitting that your mark would be of someone scolding you.” Hermione nodded to his neck.

“You can tell why I was confused.” Fred laughed. “I was sure someone as fond as you are of that activity would have to fit the bill.”

Hermione snorted. That made Fred grin wide.

“It sounds a little ominous.” He continued. “Like I’m doing something bad to them. I hope I don’t turn into an axe murderer and my soulmate ends up being one of my victims.”

“I doubt that will be the case.” She shook her head. “Knowing you, you’ll probably be doing something stupid and they’ll be concerned for your safety.”

“Knowing me?”

“Yes.”

“What do you even _know_ about me, anyway, Granger?” Fred turned a smug lip.

“I know _plenty_. Too much, one could argue.” Hermione crossed her arms. “You just don’t know anything about _me_.”

“Oh, I bet I do.”

“Oh, do you?”

“I do.”

“Well, by all means,” Hermione gestured to the air. “Prove it."

"You're a know-it-all—"

"Answers provided by Ronald will not be accepted."

"And a killjoy,"

"Uh-huh,"

"And you stay up too late doing homework,"

"Haven't heard that one before,"

"And you have an adorable laugh."

Hermione scoffed, and Fred wore a grin bigger than the one before.

“That’s hardly anything at all.” She said.

“It’s enough.”

“Then I’ve got you beat,”

Fred gave her the same gesture to continue.

“Irresponsible,” Hermione began, counting the words on her finger. “Obnoxious, too many freckles, loud, stubborn, reckless, intolerable, and ridiculous.”

“Are we counting synonyms?”

“I need more than one expression of my frustration.”

“I’ll have to get you a thesaurus,” Fred smirked.

“I have more, how much time do you have?”

"Anything _nice_ on that list of yours?”

"Well, there are veryfewnice things I can think about you, Weasley."

"You know, this is the most I've ever seen you smile, Granger," Fred noted with a coy look through his stupidly shaggy hair. "That must be worth something.”

❖

Hermione did not expect to be kidnapped in the middle of the dining hall.

She had been making her way to join Harry and Ron for breakfast, the two of them rapt in conversation about Quidditch or girls, or whatever they talked about when she wasn’t there. She’d almost made it when a long arm looped around her shoulder and interrupted her stride.

“Merlin, Fred!” Hermione jumped, quickly realizing who had grabbed her and even less pleased to see it was him. She glared up at the upperclassman as he turned them around. “What are you doing?”

“Sorry, sorry,” Fred grinned, unbothered. Hermione found it difficult to struggle against his Beater strength. “Just wanted to snag you for a bit,”

“What makes you think I would let you snag me anywhere?” Hermione levelled her gaze at him, still not happy with the way his hair always looked the perfect amount of tousled.

“Ah, Granger, we both know your bark is worse than your bite.”

“Presumption is the leap of fools.” Hermione shrugged against his arm until Fred freed her with a surrendering nod. She gave a huff and continued to follow alongside him. “Where are we going?”

“Won’t be long,” 

Hermione rolled her eyes.

Fred led her down the Gryffindor table, finally stopping at the edge of his group of friends. Lee, Alicia, Katie, Angelina, and George, all turned their heads at the new arrivals. George looked to Hermione and Fred and his expression teetered between confusion and apprehension.

“Everyone,” Fred cleared his throat. “I’m sure you’re all familiar with the Brightest Witch of the Century,” 

Angelina had an eyebrow quirked at him.

“I’d like you all to meet Hermione Granger.” Fred gave a little bow, looking to his friends expectantly.

Alicia burst into a fit of giggles, grabbing Katie’s robe as they snickered. George shared a look with Lee in amused disbelief. Hermione shook her head.

“You’re such an idiot,” Angelina noted aptly.

Fred’s expression fell. “What?”

“We already know Hermione!” Katie explained to her baulking friend.

“We’re friends,” Alicia nodded, “Who do you think we study with? Surely you boys aren’t clever enough to keep up with us.” 

“We’re all quite familiar with her, Weasley.” Angelina admonished. “Perhaps _we_ should be introducing _you_.”

A blush of pink-coloured Fred’s cheeks. “No way.”

“Bit of a misstep there, mate.” George laughed apologetically.

“You _all_ know her?” Fred emphasised. “You _hang out?_ ”

His friends gave nods and answers of confirmation. Fred jerked his head to Hermione. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“How is this _my_ fault?” scoffed Hermione.

“You know all of my friends,” Fred stated, still in a fit of disbelief. “Even _Lee?_ ”

“Yes, even Lee.” Hermione was enjoying seeing Fred look so dumbfounded.

“How am I just now finding out about this?!”

“Well if you hadn’t spent the past few years dodging her like the plague, you might’ve noticed,” George admitted.

“ _Et tu,_ Georgie?” Fred held a hand to his heart.

“Yeah, what’s with the sudden interest?” Lee joked. “You hit your head on something?”

“I honestly have no idea.” Hermione gave an exasperated reply for him. “He’s just kidnapped me out of the blue.”

“Hermione, blink twice if he has his wand to your back.”

“Now, c’mon, Ange, don’t be like that,” Fred ran a hand through his hair. “I was just… okay,” He shook his head. “New rule, no one is allowed to have secret friends.”

“Who made you in charge?” Katie spoke up.

“And why should we listen to the git who’s been snubbing her the whole time?” Angelina said.

“This did not go as planned.” Fred hung his head in his hands.

“You do deserve this.” Hermione reminded him in a light tone.

“I’m glad we have a good excuse to take the piss out of Freddie,” George said to the group wistfully. “Knocks his ego down a few.” He took a sip of his juice.

“Can we go after his hair next?” Katie asked.

“I have no friends,” Fred said gravely.

“Well,” Hermione spoke up. “It’s been great catching up, everyone. I think I’ll be going.”

“No, ah,” Fred snapped to attention as everyone said their goodbyes. “Granger, wait!” He called after her. 

He caught up with her strides. “I’m sorry about that.” Fred looked genuinely apologetic.

Hermione chuckled, keeping her eyes forward. “I don’t know what you expected.”

“I just wanted to show you—”

“What, you thought your friends would make a good impression for you?” Hermione felt some of her bitterness creep back in.

“I—I dunno, I guess—” Fred searched for his thoughts.

“Look,” Hermione stopped and turned to face him. “You’ve been a jerk to me. Your friends obviously know that. _They’ve_ been the ones speaking to me. Even George has shown me kindness. All the showmanship in the world won’t convince me to like you. I won’t be changing my mind until I see actual improvement. I haven’t got time to let myself be bullied.” Hermione stood firm. “So show up, Weasley. Prove it to me.”

She stared up at him for a beat. He stood and took the berating with a stunned expression. Her hair flipped in front of her face as she turned heel and left him, feeling a bit taller than she had before.

❖

She had to find a new hiding spot in the library. Yet again, Fred Weasley found her curled up with her homework. Hermione glanced up at him as he approached.

"Got any more of my friends you'd like to introduce me to?” She turned a page. “I'm afraid Harry Potter just left."

“I just thought you would like my potions notes from third year.” Fred pulled a stack of parchment from his bag and extended it to her simply. 

Hermione eyed the papers. A few questions popped in her head, mostly ones of suspicion.

“...Well?” Fred asked after a moment of silence.

“Am I to believe these are any good?” Hermione spoke.

Fred’s arm limped. “No, I’m giving you rubbish notes. Of course, they’re good.” 

“And you haven’t cheated off anyone?”

Fred smirked. “Granger, you might be surprised to find out that in addition to me not knowing much about _you_ , you also have a great lack of understanding for _me._ And for all my minuscule and, as you might insist, glaringly apparent faults, I have a plethora of skills to impress you with.” Fred stood tall. “I am good at potions. Really good.”

Hermione sat and considered him. He looked confident enough, but he always held that air about him. Hermione found it hard to distrust him, despite everything.

“Now you can believe me or not, I won’t stand here and convince you. I present to you my olive branch.” Fred held out the papers to her again.

This time she took them, but not before eyeing him over once more, and tentatively holding the papers as if they might explode in her hands. Fred nodded when Hermione seemed to resign to her acceptance, and he relaxed his shoulders. 

“Alright then. I’ll leave you to it.” 

With that, Fred turned to leave, his unfastened robes flowing around him.

She watched him stride down the alley of shelves. There was a moment's hesitation before she called after him. 

“Thank you,” her voice gave the waver of uncertainty, as she still couldn’t quite believe the gesture of goodwill. 

He held up his hand in a wave but did not turn back. Hermione suspected he wore a prideful grin, as she could practically feel it emanate from the back of his head.

She looked down at the stack of notes. All over in jagged, looping letters, Fred’s handwriting spelt out recipes and reactions to hundreds of potions. Crossed out sections were replaced by paragraphs of corrections. There were even doodles of stars and snitches in the margins.

Hermione felt a smile creep up her face but quickly stifled it. She had work to do, a load that suddenly seemed a bit lighter.

❖

Ron was foolhardy, Hermione expected as much from him. But Harry? Hermione never thought that Harry would turn on her as well. It was just a broom! Honestly, how could they let something so trivial get in the way of Harry’s safety? And that stupid rat… Hermione couldn’t bear to look at them.

Returning from the library just before its nightly closure with even more materials for Buckbeak’s trial, Hermione stopped short mid-portrait-hole. She saw a common room full of Gryffindors, all chatting and mingling and being altogether distracting. Worst of all, she saw Harry and Ron sitting at her favourite table. They glanced up as she entered but quickly turned their backs to her.

Just as she decided to storm past them and head upstairs to study, Lavender and Pavarti passed her. They shot her judgemental looks—though, maybe that was just the natural state of their faces?—and headed up the stairs before she had the chance. Hermione felt cornered. She was just about to leave for the hall and just curl up on the floor with her books when she spotted an empty seat. She weighed her options, eyes darting between Harry and the giggling curly head of Lavender, and finally making decisive steps to the couch. 

“May I sit with you?”

Fred and George looked up at her, mirrored expressions of surprise.

Hermione clutched her bag tight to her chest.

“Sure,” Fred answered first, a little quick and sounding more eager than she was sure he meant to. George smoothly made room for Hermione between them.

“To what do we owe the pleasure?” George asked coolly.

Hermione took her book from her bag, sitting the heavy weight on her lap. “I’ve been snubbed.”

“By whom?” George glanced behind them and saw the two boys at their table. “Not them, yeah?”

“Yes.” Hermione’s voice felt tight.

“No,” Fred’s disbelief was whispered. “Are they really that bent out of shape about it?”

“So you’ve heard.” Hermione clutched the spine of her book.

“About the Firebolt? Yeah.” George said, “Oliver nearly busted a blood vessel when he found out you’d had it taken away.” He stopped, seeing the despondent look on Hermione’s face and quickly correcting. “But, honestly a butterfly landing out of place would get that reaction from him right now; teetering the edge, that one.”

“I’m sorry to keep your ever-important Seeker from his broom.” Hermione’s voice was hollow.

“I’m glad you did,” Fred said.

“What?” Hermione looked at him.

“Harry’s being an idiot.” He shrugged. “So he uses a school broom for a while, he’ll still out-fly any of us on the field.”

Hermione’s eyebrows raised. The feeling of Fred agreeing with her was not one she was familiar with.

“There’s a _murderer_ out to get him.” Fred elaborated. “And that’s clearly bait.”

“That’s exactly what I said!” Hermione sat up energetically.

“As much as I hate to applaud the intervention of authority figures, you were right to report it,” Fred told her. “And though we know how great that broom would be for our team,”

“We’d rather have our Seeker alive for next season.” George finished.

“Also, we’d never turn up an opportunity to rough up Ron, if you needed,” Fred added, tilting his chin in his brother’s direction.

“I don’t think it’s come to that,” Hermione let herself laugh.

“Well, if there’s anything else you need, don’t hesitate to ask,” Fred offered, his tone casual.

“Even if it’s just shaking up the status quo,” George gesturing his head at Harry and Ron, who had been stealing glances over at the three of them since Hermione sat down. She thought the sacrifice to her pride at sitting with the Weasley twins was worth their confusion.

“Is that Charms?” Fred nodded to the book in her lap.

“Yes, it is.” Hermione returned to the page she had been reading.

“Ah, _Reparifors_.” George read. “That’s a good one.”

“Yeah,” Fred added wistfully. “Georgie and I have found it quite handy, as of late.”

“Are you often curing people of minor poisoning?” Hermione questioned, a dubious raise to her eyebrow.

“Curing each other!” George said.

“What are you two getting into?” Hermione laughed at his insistence. 

“Oh, Granger.” Fred relaxed an arm on the sofa. Hermione allowed the brush of her shoulder as he rested his hand behind her. “What _aren’t_ we getting into?”

❖

Hermione’s head felt clouded. She seemed to be moving through the days in a haze of papers and homework and books and a mess of rejection. Ron and Harry still weren’t speaking to her. And the looming threat of the trial weighed down her already-loaded schedule. Her brain kept mixing up the order in which everything needed to be done. Her ten-o’clock runes were twisting with her ten-o’clock arithmancy. She was jumbling sigils with signs and feeling gaps in her memory where Muggle Studies should have been. She was overwhelmed, she was tired, and she was crying in the library. This was a new development. 

She’d suddenly lost her composure and was very grateful for the late lonely evening. So often a source of comfort, the surrounding books absorbed her quiet sobs. Hermione’s head hurt. Her hair furrowed around her face, shielding her in a protective cave. It had been a few minutes—no, an hour, maybe? Either way, she’d just make up the lost time with her Time-Turner, but somehow the thought of wasting even a single second brought a guilty weight to her shoulders.

She didn’t hear him approach. In fact, it wasn’t until he called to her through the quiet corridors of books that Hermione realized she had been seen at all. Fred’s footsteps were an afterthought as his voice cut through her muffled solitude.

“Granger?” He had a stack of books in his arm, but through her bleary eyes Hermione couldn’t make out the titles.

Hermione quickly righted herself, rubbing away tears and hoping the frizzy strands of hair sticking to her face weren’t too obvious, but there was no point. Fred looked concerned, his frustratingly unbuttoned collar bringing strange comfort to her in that moment. She tried for a calm breath that ended up sounding more like a sniffle, her voice also no help in putting up a brave face.

“Yes?” Just the word alone quivered out of her mouth, and Hermione cleared her throat. “What is it?” A bit stronger this time, though the strain to even her tone was clear enough.

“Who did this to you?” Fred was suddenly alert, his head swivelling to catch the culprit of Hermione’s distress. “I swear if Malfoy’s been running his mouth again…”

“No,” Hermione shook her head, rubbing her eyes again. “No, it’s nothing. No one’s done anything.”

Fred calmed, falling back to stand before her. He looked to her and Hermione could read the confused bit of helplessness on his face.

“It’s nothing,” Hermione assured him, guarding herself. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Granger, I…” Fred shifted from one foot to another, unsure of how to handle the scene he had walked in on.

“Don’t worry about it,” repeated Hermione, her tone a bit sterner. She felt the well of tears prick her eyes again, but refused to let them fall. She would not be so vulnerable in front of _him_. 

Fred seemed to steady himself in a decision. With a smooth motion, he placed his books down and knelt before her. He looked at her for a moment, as if waiting for permission. When Hermione did not move, he pulled her into an enveloping hug. 

She expected awkwardness, she thought she would recoil and resent the attention. But Fred held her and it felt...nice. His arms found the right nooks to fall into, and Hermione recalled the feeling of a warm blanket on a cold night. 

She didn’t mean for it to all spill out, but it happened. As soon as her cheek rested on Fred’s shoulder, she cried. The warmth of his neck against her forehead brought a whole rush of release. Hermione curled into him, clutching the soft fabric of his vest, hands shaking. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears, her face was hot and wet. She hated that she was here, prone to his affection and endlessly comfortable all the same.

They sat there for a while, the quiet of the library nestling them in privacy. Hermione’s breathing returned to normal, and she felt a fleeting bit of guilt for the wet spots she’d left on his neck. She tucked her head further into his embrace, not quite ready to face the reality of their action.

“You’re pushing your luck, Fred Weasley,” Hermione mumbled tearily into his chest.

“Ah, I’ll make up for it,” he assured her in a quiet tone. “I’m sure there are a few rule-breakings you’ve yet to scold me for, Granger.”

She let out a watery laugh. His shirt was soft against her face. She found a bit of bravery and spoke up.

“Hermione.”

“Hm?” Fred hummed.

“You can call me that. My name.” She felt a bit of colour in her cheeks. 

Fred took a moment, his chest rising and falling with his breath.

"Alright,” His voice was soft. “Hermione.”

❖

As the weeks went on, and Harry and Ron had ultimately decided to forgive Hermione, life returned to normal. 

At least, that's what she thought would happen. 

Since that night in the library, Fred had seemingly made the decision to include Hermione in conversations nearly every chance he got. She’d be sitting in the common room, studying or otherwise occupied, when Fred would call her over from his seat at an adjoining table.

He needed a second opinion on an argument he was having with Lee or her input on certain ingredients for potions he claimed to be working on. He had even asked her whether his Quidditch robes needed some flaring up, which Hermione resoundingly denied, dreading the addition of blazing phoenix feathers to his uniform. 

No matter where she was, Fred always seemed to request her attention. She was only surprised by how easily she found herself going along with it. 

There seemed to be one detail that Hermione overlooked when accepting to be a part of Fred’s circle of confidants.

Fred Weasley was a very tactile person.

“— _That’s_ what I’m talking about!” Fred would put a confident hand on Hermione’s back when she would eventually prove his point.

“—You know, I can see how you would think that, but actually…” Fred’s arm would loop around her, pulling her deeper into debate.

“—Oh, hold still, you’ve got a wonky curl,” Fred would instruct before bringing his hand to her face, straightening her hair off her cheek. 

The touches were innocent, an innocuous inclusion of her into conversations. Hermione suspected that Fred hardly knew he was doing anything at all. He often grabbed and touched his friends in the same agreeable fashion. It was just a habit of his, Hermione insisted to herself. A byproduct of finally being on companionable terms with Fred. Nothing special, nothing odd. Then why did each brush of his fingers send her heart racing?

❖

“Hellooo, Hermione, Ginny dear.” Fred greeted in a sing-song voice. He sat beside her easily, joining the spot in the courtyard where the two girls were studying.

“Hello, Fred,” Hermione responded in a tone already suspicious of his sugary attitude.

“Hiya,” said Ginny.

“Lovely day, innit, Hermione?” commented Fred in a distracted sort of way. “Been keeping along in your studies and all that?”

“I have,” Hermione responded shortly, eyeing the upperclassman for any tell.

“That’s great...” Fred said, “Blimey, it sure is lovely out today...”

“Is this how interesting the conversations you two have now that you’re speaking to each other?” Ginny asked in a bored voice. “I don’t know if it was worth it, Hermione.”

“Listen,” Fred continued, ignoring his sister. “I know we’ve talked about this,”

“What have you done?” Hermione closed her book in preparation.

“Nothing at all!” Fred added, “Well, nothing _horrible.”_

“Fred…” Hermione warned.

“But if you happen to come across a few kids sporting a particularly rancid shade of purple on their faces, just know that George and I are working fast on an antidote, and you shouldn’t worry about—Hermione, no, no. Hey, no, it’s okay, we’re working on it, I promise, I pro—”

But Hermione was already hitting him with her book in between shouts of incredulous scolding.

“You unbelievable—” Hermione swore. “Reckless! And totally immature! Your stupid pranks are going to get somebody _killed!”_

“Ow, okay, no, Hermione,” Fred was laughing. “I’m sorry, I know, but I promise I’ll—ow.”

“I hate it when mum and dad fight.” Ginny let out a little sigh, turning back to her parchment. 

❖

Hermione was nearly falling asleep by the time they made it to the closing ceremonies. The year had felt significantly longer, which was perhaps due to her living through each school hour over and over again. And a complicated night of rescuing former-serial-killer, presently-Harry’s-Godfather in addition to an enormously uncooperative giant bird did nothing to ease the stress Hermione had felt the entire year. But things were finally linear, and exams had spent the remainder of her energy. Hermione felt like she could melt into the table.

She was finding Dumbledore’s calming voice hard to focus on, and the cushion of her palm against her cheek was feeling more and more comfortable. Soon enough, the ceremony ended, and Hermione promised she was conscious for at least half of it. The burst of food on the table roused her, and soon the hall was alive with conversation. She yawned and began sorting out her dinner. She hardly noticed movement beside her until a familiar voice called to her beyond the haze.

“Bit knackered, Granger?” Fred had traded seats with Katie.

“Was I that obvious?” She looked at him.

“I could practically hear you snoring all the way on my end.”

Hermione whacked Fred in the arm, an action emphasised by the length of her robe sleeves. “I was not!” 

Fred chuckled. “So disrespectful. I can’t believe what a delinquent you’ve turned into.”

“It’s been… a _long_ year.” Hermione shook her head.

“Oh, I know what you mean!” Fred nodded. “George and I had to find so many new hobbies to fill the gaps of all the classes we missed! Time just seemed to inch by.”

“Lazy arse,” Hermione rubbed her eyes.

“Woah!” Fred laughed. “Hermione, language!” He saw her arm extend for a serving of mashed potatoes, getting nearly there, making grabbing motions with her hand, then giving up in exhaustion. He took the bowl easily and handed it to her with an amused expression. “Oh, how the mighty fall.”

“Thank you,” She mumbled while accepting the dish.

“It has been quite a wild year. We hated each other, we fell in love, funny how life turns around like that.”

“I’m going to shove these potatoes down your throat.”

“So, how’d I do? With my promises.” Fred dug into his own dinner.

“On getting me to trust you?” 

He nodded. 

“Well, let’s see,” Hermione began counting on her fingers. “Skived off, constantly. Pranks, non-stop. And you made fun of me _so much_.” Her accusations were broken by laughter.

“Well I couldn’t stop doing _that_ ,” Fred reasoned.

“ _And_ you gave Harry a magical map that led him _directly_ into danger.” Hermione reminded him. “You have done _so horribly_ , Fred Weasley.”

“And yet,” Fred tore a piece of bread. “You like me now.”

“If possible, I like you even less.” Hermione smiled.

“Hm. Oh, well.” Fred shrugged. “Better luck next year.”

“It’s alright,” Hermione patted his shoulder. “This just means I get to rat on you to your mother,”

“Hermione, no!” Fred clutched her arm. “You wish death upon this man so early in his life?”

“You have inflicted this fate unto yourself, Fred Weasley!” She commanded. 

“Surely no amount of chivalry could change your mind?” He pleaded.

“Doubtful.” Hermione turned up her nose. “But the council may sway their decision… If the correct supply of candies are gifted.”

Fred’s grin broke wider. “Look forward to my owl.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter 4 is on its way! follow my [art tumblr](https://lemkid.tumblr.com) for updates, as well as the occasional [Fremione Fanart](https://lemkid.tumblr.com/tagged/fremione) :3


	4. Consideration

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey everyone! thank you so much for your patience!!! i hope you like chapter 4 and are excited to read more :3 please comment below with literally ALL OF YOUR THOUGHTS on this chapter. it took me so long to piece together and i made some creative decisions about the story that I hope yall can resonate with!
> 
> big love to my beta reader, [raquians](https://archiveofourown.org/users/raquians/pseuds/raquians), as always <3
> 
> ALSO! if you’re hankering for some more fremione content, consider listening to the [spotify playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5eBO69WfuzzBUPubKyGjKO?si=3e01ca76b86e4185) I made for them. It’s a little short and I’m always looking for suggestions, so go ahead and comment below if you have a song that reminds you of these two :) 
> 
> anyway, see yall soon! don't forget to follow my [tumblr](https://lemkid.tumblr.com), [instagram](https://instagram.com/averiel.art), and [brand new twitter](https://twitter.com/averiel_art) for fan art and updates! Love you!!! <3

The summer brought an unfortunate habit to hide from her dentist-parents.

The letters from Fred came, as promised, and with them a nearly daily selection of candied sweets for Hermione to enjoy.

_Hope this one goes over better than the Tarantula Truffles. I can’t believe you’ve never had Arctic Anne’s Icicle Drops before! Do muggles just sweat out the summer without them, then? Or do you have to shack up in one of those refrigamators? Those things can’t be built for more than one person..._

Pigwidgeon offered the parcel of very cold candy out to Hermione as she read Fred’s letter. As she sucked on the summer treat, she planned an outing to buy a whole array of muggle candies to share with Fred. She couldn’t pass up this opportunity to expand his knowledge of muggle culture, after all.

Thus began their routine. Fred would send a letter and package of candy, and Hermione would return the favour. This went on for the entire first month of her holiday, each tap on her window of Pig with a new letter bringing a wide grin to her face. She was surprised, not only by Fred’s knack for finding exactly which candies she would enjoy, but that their correspondence alone excited her more than the actual treats she’d be given. Fred was making her laugh. (Really, _Fred Weasley?)_ And more often than not she found herself giving the letters a second read, savouring her favourite parts more than she did the chocolate.

Fred had confided in her about the joke products he and George were working on. Though he was only forced to admit it after a specific question he had for her about the documented effects of Bromboliad Root on human flesh could not hide his intentions any further.

_I can’t say I’m surprised. I've made it abundantly clear how I feel about your troublemaking, but I suppose I can’t stop you. If you and George know what you’re doing, and you’ll at least make sure you’re being safe, then I trust you—but don’t let that go to your head!_

_After reading through a few of my older Herbology textbooks, I found mention of a subspecies that expanded and grew a test subject’s tongue until it burst. I sincerely hope you have no plans of using it for your products!!!_

Fred had been honoured to hear of Hermione’s approval, though assuring her that his tests of the plant would go smoothly— _Don’t you remember my impressive potions notes? I’ve got this in the bag, Hermione—_ so she was given no choice but to trust his expertise.

Through all this, Hermione felt an odd nag at the back of her head. Sure as it was, Fred Weasley had, by her technical definition, not improved as a person since last he promised her. He was still the cocky trickster that she so despised not too long ago, but for some reason, his boorish demeanour bothered her less and less. She was feeling a familiar lightheartedness with every mention of a new adventurous idea he would share with her. Hermione could almost note-for-note predict his inventive inspirations, but instead of the usual threat of doom talk like that would instill, she felt a bit of pride.

She was spending the rest of the summer with the Weasleys, which, for the first time, did not fill her stomach with dread.

She didn’t know what to expect. The thought of seeing Fred after the events of the previous year felt like she was waiting for an illusion to shatter. She expected to be dragged back to the reality of their ever-present rivalry, like their tentative friendship had just been a dream and the person sending her letters and candy over the summer had been an imposter. But there he stood in the living room of the Burrow, expecting her Floo, and smiling like he was happy to see her.

❖

The night of the Quidditch World Cup was alight with excitement. Their tents finally standing and wonderfully spacious, the boys wasted no time claiming beds and making themselves comfortable. After Ginny and Hermione’s smaller tent was easily tidied and sorted, they joined the others to gather before the match. With all the buzz of anticipation and bustling of teenagers, the tent felt smaller, cozy. Hermione watched as Harry and Ron argued over the top bunk, laughing at the escalating conflict. She turned to the dining room and caught Fred’s attention on her. He smirked lazily, reclining in his seat as George sat beside him. He almost looked cool, Hermione noted, with his long limbs extended and relaxed against the table. The illusion was easily shattered when Mr Weasley’s voice called to admonish Fred’s dirty shoes on the dining room table. Hermione laughed at the sudden shade of pink gracing Fred’s features. She moved to sit between the twins as Fred was reluctantly straightening his posture.

“Feet off the table, Fred Weasley,” Hermione teased, repeating the scold of his father.

“Forgive a bloke for seeking comfort,” Fred defended, straightening his shoulders. “Alright, Granger?” Fred inquired, smiling at her.

“I’m just fine, yes,” she nodded. Hermione noticed her own smile at Fred and quelled its mischievous nature. 

It felt a bit like she was keeping a secret. Of what and from who, Hermione did not know. The budding familiarity between her and Fred seemed strangely taboo. Of course, there was nothing wrong with them getting along, in fact, it was better for everyone if they were on good terms, but there was something about this new friendship that felt private. Like this new way of interacting wasn’t for anyone else’s benefit, and the only expectations they needed to subvert were each other’s. 

Whatever the reason, Hermione felt a rush of giddiness with every look they shared.

“The ride over here was very exciting,” Hermione said conversationally. “I’ve never used a Portkey before.”

“Was it all that you’ve read about and more?” asked Fred with a raise of his eyebrow.

Hermione scrunched her nose at him. George sat beside the two of them but seemed to have one eye on the tent’s opening. There was a scuffle nearby, and Ginny had pulled out Ron’s Bulgarian colours and was taunting him for it.

“Excited for the match?” Hermione asked the twins, though George made no indication that he was listening.

“Ab-so-lutely!” Fred nodded. “We’ve got our Irish pride all ready to go!” He grabbed a bag of green and white apparel and emptied it onto the table. Ginny swung by to snag a bulging green hat, adorning it and sticking her tongue out at Ron.

George sat in a far-off stare at the entrance. He had a leg crossed against his knee, and a distracted thumb traced the writing on his ankle. Hermione cleared her throat, smirking a bit as the other twin's attention returned to reality.

“Excited for the match, George?” She spoke up, repeating the question a bit louder this time.

“What? Oh, er,” George focused, removing his hand from his soul mark. “Yeah! Really excited. I can’t wait.”

Fred leaned in. “Y’know, it’s not a lamp, Georgie. Rubbing your mark like that won’t make Wood appear out of thin air.”

George rolled his eyes and returned his leg to the floor.

“I think it’s sweet.” Hermione defended.

“Thank you, Hermione.” George nodded. “And for your information, Oliver will be meeting us here at the match anyway, so I wouldn’t say my rubbing has been ineffective.”

“I really don’t need to hear any more about your rubbing, brother dear.” 

“You’re just jealous,” George shrugged.

“Oh, of what? That Wood’s finally come to his senses after chasing him for so long?”

“You’ll understand when you’re older,” George said.

“So if I’d been born ten minutes before you, I’d be able to see why it took a bloke four years after finding his soulmate to finally go out with him?”

“Matters of the heart are enigmatic, brother-o-mine,” George simply said. “Believe me, as soon as you meet your soulmate, you’ll see how complicated all this stuff really is.”

Fred did nothing but roll his eyes as George returned to keeping an eye on the tent’s entrance. Hermione felt a tense pull in her stomach at the mention of Fred's soulmate. She pulled her arm in, catching a glimpse of the false mark on her wrist. Suddenly the ground felt a little less stable.

With the new status of Fred in her life, the tension of her soul mark definitely felt as complicated as George had said. Hermione remained firm in her decision to hide the truth from Fred. She'd only recently begun speaking to him and even more recently speaking to him on friendly terms. The fact that she could soil all of it by throwing in the expectations of Star-Destined Lovers to the fire right now was unthinkable. Fred and Hermione weren't soulmates; they were barely friends!

She swallowed a lump in her throat and focused back to reality. Hermione reached for one of the green and white scarves the twins had laid out. “May I?” She asked before swinging it around her neck.

“Hermione Granger, on our side?” Fred put a hand to his chest, aghast. “I would have never dreamt it.”

“It’ll be fun to contest the boys.” She gestured to her red-and-black-clad best friends.

“So devilish…” George chuckled. “Fred, has your influence rubbed off on her that much?”

“Oh, I hope so,” Fred grinned at Hermione.

The commotion of the pregame festivities continued around them. George, after Fred poked fun at him again for anxiously awaiting his guest, decided to head out and meet up with Oliver on his own. Ginny had finally settled down to help Harry paint a red “K” and matching Bulgarian flag on Ron’s face. Hermione sat with Fred alone at the table. She noticed him bouncing his leg. It didn’t annoy her as much as it used to.

“So,” Hermione crossed her arms on the table and leaned in towards Fred. “Any plans for tonight?”

“Hermione, I’m flattered, but we shouldn’t jump to candlelit dinners so soon.”

She ignored the smarmy look on his face. “Should I be on the lookout for rogue explosions on the field?”

“You expect me cunning enough to prank the _Quidditch World Cup?_ ” Fred grinned at her.

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Hermione said.

“I am so deeply honoured by your trust in my capabilities.” 

“‘Trust’ is a stretch. I consider it to be more of a sixth sense.”

“Oh, I see. A premonition of oncoming doom.”

“Unfortunately,” Hermione smirked.

“No wonder I put you in such a bad mood.” Fred leaned back with his arms stretched behind his head.

“It’s nearly a constant headache,” she nodded.

Fred laughed and reached for something on the table.

“Hey, can you help me with this?” Fred held out a tin of green paint to her.

“Surely you’re joking.”

“Hermione, it’s about time you take my unflinching devotion to the rightful heir to the Quidditch throne more seriously. Now come on, paint a giant shamrock on my face.”

❖

Hermione found them in the library pouring over a book. Fred and George poked their heads up at her arrival and nearly jumped to hide it from her. George splayed his body over the open pages while Fred leaned one arm on the table to play interference. Hermione ignored the way-too-casual greeting he offered her and eyed them mistrustfully.

“What are you reading.” Not a question.

Fred coughed. “Catching up on… herbology.”

“I see…” Hermione lowered her bag into a nearby chair. In one swift movement, she dodged Fred’s arms and ripped the book out from under George. She stepped back quickly as Fred began to chase after her.

“Ah, Hermione!” Fred shouted, rounding the table that she had circled around. “That is private information and you shouldn’t be—George, help me out!”

His twin merely laughed and shook his head as Hermione ducked under Fred’s reach. Hermione held the book close to her chest, jumping back and holding in her laughter as she and Fred weaved around the library tables. She’d nearly opened the book in her run until she stumbled against a chair. Losing her confident pace, Fred caught up to her and reached his long arm to wrap around her waist. Hermione stifled a squeal and felt her feet lift off the ground. She swallowed hard, suddenly not interested in the book at all anymore. She felt weightless and very aware of the strength in Fred’s arms.

Just as soon as it happened, Fred settled her down on the floor. He took a large step back.

Hermione’s heart raced in her chest as she and Fred stood facing each other. Fred brushed his hair back, catching his breath as Hermione adjusted her shirt. They made eye contact for a moment and quickly looked away. Whatever rush to her stomach she had felt was forcibly forgotten as Hermione cleared her throat.

“Alright. Well…” Fred said, sounding as awkward as she felt. “There you go… Happy now?”

Hermione clutched the book in her hand. She focused her attention on taking in the words on the cover, though her mind still blurred with the memory of Fred’s breath on her neck.

Hermione squinted at the title. It was a small book of potions with minor illustrations around the cover.

_“The Magical Manual of Age Alteration._ What did you need this for?” She looked from Fred to George, who shook his head and held up his hands defensively.

“There’s an… ageing potion we were looking into,” Fred answered hesitantly.

Hermione tilted her head for a moment in confusion before remembering what the twins had said that very evening.

_We’ll be seventeen in April!_

“Oh, absolutely not _._ ”

“Aw, c’mon,” Fred rolled his eyes.

“Told you she wouldn’t go for it,” George said to his brother.

“An age potion?” Hermione laughed. “Really, Fred. Do you think the whole school is going to suddenly forget how old you are? And after you’d made such a fuss about technicalities?”

“So you’re saying if we had played it cool, it would work?” Fred asked, his tone returning to its usual playfulness.

“I’m saying it could _never_ work. Nevermind who else is deciding the champions, Dumbledore would never let you two get away with it.” Hermione crossed her arms.

“Historically, he’s always been a big fan of our work,” George added. “Bloke loves a good laugh.”

“Oh yes, a _good_ laugh,” Hermione gave an exaggerated wave of her arm. “Two teenagers cheating their way into a dangerous competition so they can get maimed and killed before their seventeenth birthday. How _hilarious._ ”

“Hear that, George? Sounds like she’s worried about us.”

Hermione let out a thin laugh. “I’m only worried about how stupid this idea is. Honestly, Fred, I thought you were smarter than this.”

“I don’t think I remembered _asking_ for your opinion, Granger,” Fred spoke, tone light and sardonic. 

“Well, I’m giving it to you,” Hermione smirked. “It’s not going to work, so don’t waste your time.”

“You are _not_ the boss of me,” 

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Hermione levelled her gaze at Fred. They shared a moment of unspoken combat, Hermione’s eyebrows daring Fred to contest her. Fred’s cocky grin lingered as the two of them felt laughter building behind their eyes.

George spoke up, clearly aware that his presence had been forgotten. “Alright, as charming as this is,” He said cooly, “We’ve got potions to make.”

“No way you’re actually going through with this?” She looked to George incredulously.

“Look, Hermione,” George continued as Fred leaned against the table. “Stupid or not, we’ve got to try. You know us. That’s kind of our motto.”

Fred chuckled and Hermione gave a defeated huff.

“Alright.” She shrugged, giving Fred a final look of tired disbelief. “Fine. If you two want to make fools of yourselves in front of everyone, be my guest. That’s certainly never stopped you before.”

Fred grinned at her.

“Then if, by some immeasurable stroke of luck or sheer cosmic joke,” she continued. “You end up actually getting in, don’t expect me at your funerals.”

“Aw, Hermione,” Fred tilted his head at her. “Then who will play my mourning widow?”

She gathered her bag from the floor and threw the book back at George. She gave Fred a cheeky shake of her head before turning to leave.

❖

“Don’t say it.” 

“I told you so.”

“There was a slight miscalculation.”

“Does Madam Pomphrey often treat excessive wrinkling on sixteen-year-olds?”

“I can always count on you to kick a man while he’s down.”

“That beard looks nice.”

“Got a thing for older men?”

Hermione sat down on Fred’s hospital wing bed, making sure to slam her bag of heavy books directly onto his feet.

❖

Hermione arrived in the common room that night on the heels of another yelling match between the boys. She’d left Harry and Ron to their argument and stormed ahead of them. She ducked through the portrait hole to see the subtle collection of students winding down for the night. Since Harry’s induction into the Triwizard Tournament, the commotion of it had worn off on the rest of Gryffindor House. Hermione wished she could say the same. 

She spotted Fred and George at a table in the corner. They looked to be finishing up some work, as George was piling bits of parchment into his bag.

“Hi,” she approached the two of them and felt a weight lift from her shoulders as she sat down beside Fred.

“Oh, no.” Fred examined her face. “That’s not a good look.”

“What’s up, Hermione?” George asked, concerned.

“It’s nothing.” Hermione shook her head, exhausted. “Don’t worry about it. Just a long day.”

“Hm.” George looked like he didn’t believe her, but didn’t pry. “Well, you are free to relax here with Fred, I was just about to head upstairs to write to Oliver.”

“Oh, don’t leave on my account,” Hermione said.

“Nah, it’s alright, I was going anyway.” George waves her off, slinging his bag around his shoulder. “I know Freddie is second best, but I hope he doesn’t make your day worse.”

“Oi,” Fred jerks his head at his brother. “Give me some credit.”

George says his goodbyes as Hermione laughs at Fred’s indignation.

“So,” Fred leans to her. “Now that the Real Second Best is gone, what’s wrong?”

Hermione sighed. She ran a hand along her face. “No, it’s alright. It’s nothing.”

“Hermione.” Fred raised an eyebrow at her.

“Okay, fine.” Hermione looked at him. "Harry and Ron are at each other’s throats about Harry being named Champion and I’m caught in the middle."

Fred shook his head. "You've got a pair of exhausting friends, Ms Granger."

She gave a light laugh and massaged her temples. "And the list keeps getting longer."

"Am I to infer you consider me on that list of friends?" He smiles.

"One of the more exhausting." She smirked at him.

“I am honoured,” Fred said. “In need of a distraction?”

“Something you’re well-versed in, as I understand it.”

“Any plans for Hogsmeade tomorrow?”

Hermione considered this, feeling a light swoop of her stomach. “I was going to go with Harry, but sneaking around all the drama he’s caused isn’t exactly my idea of a fun weekend.”

“Well, I can offer a better one.” Fred’s hair fell into his face again. “Come with me? Just us two, no exhausting friends.”

She ignored the increased beat of her heart. “Now, don’t contradict yourself,” Hermione teased.

“Is that a yes?”

She looked at Fred, taking in the easy expression on his face. “It’s a yes.”

❖

The early winter air of Hogsmeade fluttered around Hermione’s curls as she and Fred walked down the cobbled road. It was a beautiful weekend for a visit to the village, so the streets were crowded with the usual heads of Hogwarts students. Hermione recognized several students of the visiting schools mixed in, as a group of Beauxbaton girls were being toured around by some Ravenclaw boys. 

“Busy day,” Fred commented on the shuffle of shoppers.

“Now you know why I’d rather not be around Mr Popular right now.”

“Ah yes,” said Fred. “I heard the latest news. Why didn’t you tell me you were madly in love with Harry Potter?”

“Why, afraid of a little competition?” Hermione smirked at him. Fred laughed as Hermione rolled her eyes. “I can’t believe that woman.”

“If she had any sense, she’d be able to see the truth; everyone knows Harry’s intimately involved with his Firebolt.”

This made Hermione burst out laughing. They walked past shops, taking in the fresh air and enjoying each other's company. They were approaching Honeydukes when Fred paused.

"Hey, what time is it?" He asked her.

"Nearly two," She glanced at the clock hanging from the Three Broomsticks.

"Perfect.” Fred looped his hand around her arm. “Come with me."

He led her off the path, taking easy steps around the back end of shops. Hermione looked around as the alleyway became narrower.

"Where are we going?" Hermione asked with a chuckle at the absurdity of their location. "Am I to become one of your victims after all?" She joked, recalling back to their first conversation about Fred's soul mark.

Fred laughed. “Don’t worry, no murdering just yet. Just a surprise.”

“A murder would be quite surprising,” she noted.

“I’ll save that for a special occasion,” Fred assured her. “We’re nearly there.”

They arrived at the back door of Honeydukes. The gate to an outer street was swung open, where a pile of colourful crates lay stacked on the cobblestone. A young witch adorned in coveralls was picking up one of them, heaving it to the open back door of the candy shop.

“Now don’t throw out that back of yours, Demetria,” Fred called to the woman.

She turned around and smiled wide when she saw him. “Fred Weasley, you cheeky twit.” She settled the crate down as they approached. “Or are you George?”

She was a tall woman in her early twenties. She had auburn hair tied up in a bun loosely positioned on top of her head. She had short sleeves rolled up to her shoulders, where strong arms sweat from a hard day’s work. She grabbed a rag from her belt and ran it along her face. Hermione thought she was very good-looking.

“Demetria, please,” Fred said. “You can’t pretend you don’t recognize my handsome face on sight.”

“Come here, you.” Demetria drew him into a companionable hug, gripping his shoulder as she pulled away. “God, you’ve just shot right up.” She looked him up and down. “Been so long since you bothered me, I thought I’d been abandoned.”

“You?” Fred laughed. “Never.”

“Now who’s this lovely lady you’ve got on your arm, then?” Demetria turned to Hermione and offered her hand.

“This is my friend Hermione,” Fred introduced.

“Nice to meet you.” Hermione took her hand and shook it, still a bit awestruck.

“Pleasure’s all mine.” She grinned with very pretty teeth. “He hasn’t been jerkin' you around all day, has he?”

“Almost constantly,” Hermione said with a chuckle.

Demetria laughed and put her hands on her hip.

Fred turned to Hermione. “George and I used to visit Demetria all the time in third year.”

“Sniffing around my shipments looking for freebies,” Demetria added. “I run supplies for Honeydukes.” She explained to Hermione. “Couldn’t get through a load without those two hounding me for something.”

“Speaking of which,” Fred leaned in.

“Oh, so sorry for the delay, your highness,” Demetria rolled her eyes and pulled her wand from her belt. She gave it a tight flick and the lid of a nearby crate swung open. Two candies came whirling through the air into Fred’s open palm. He handed a candy to Hermione and she thanked Demetria.

“Now are they still a pair of troublemakers up at that school?” She asked Hermione.

“Don’t even get me started,” Hermione said.

“Hey, now, we haven’t come here to dish!” Fred interjected. 

“No, only to interrupt my work,” Demetria said.

“We won’t keep you,” Fred nodded. “Just wanted to introduce you.”

“Well you’re welcome back anytime,” Demetria told Hermione. “Don’t let this one work his charm on you, he’ll get away with murder.”

“He already has,” Hermione said and Fred scoffed beside her. “It was nice meeting you!”

“And you too,” She smiled. “Don’t be a stranger, Fred.”

“I won’t, I promise.” Fred insisted with a wave of his hand. They left her to her work and returned to the busy street. 

They settled into the Three Broomsticks for a quick drink. A table in the corner was the only available seat. A couple groups of students talked conversationally around them. The two of them walked past Katie and Angelina, who looked to be deep in conversation. Fred tried waving to them, to no avail.

“What d’you think that’s all about?” Fred tilted his head in the direction of the girls as they sat down.

Hermione looked back at them. Angelina looked to be animatedly explaining something to Katie, who was not looking at her and twisting a lock of her hair.

Hermione wrinkled her eyebrows. “I don’t know.”

“I’ll ask Ange later.” Fred shrugged, handing Hermione a glass of Butterbeer. Hermione removed her jacket, settling into the warmth of the tavern.

“Thanks for coming along with me,” Fred said. “I’m glad you got to meet Demetria.”

Hermione nodded. "She was charming."

Fred grinned. "Yeah, she and I go way back."

"I can tell," Hermione gave him a teasing look over her glass. "Couldn't help but notice how _friendly_ you two were."

"Ah, nah, it's not like that," Fred laughed her off, though Hermione saw the hint of red in his cheeks. "I did have a pretty big crush on her in third year."

"Oh? What happened?" She leaned in to nudge his elbow.

"Must have asked her out nearly a hundred times,” Fred spoke nostalgically. “She finally got sick of it and told me she wasn't into guys who flirted with delivery witches to nab Fizzing Whizzbees."

"What, that didn't sweep her off her feet?" Hermione laughed at him.

"Not in the slightest! You would think my prepubescent looks and hormonally-charged personality would have won her over easily." He shook his head.

"Those always were your best qualities," Hermione said with a smirk.

“George was there to witness it all, obviously,” Fred added. “You can ask for yourself how smitten I was.”

“Oh, I will.” Hermione smiled. She took a sip of her Butterbeer and thought back to their encounter behind the candy shop. Fred certainly got along with her well enough. They seemed like old friends now, not a lot of hopeless pining. Hermione chuckled at the thought of a younger Fred following around the older woman like a puppy.

"I wouldn’t expect her to be your type," Hermione spoke absently as if half to herself.

"Oh?" Fred raised an eyebrow at her. "Know me that well, do you?"

“Well enough,” Hermione said, already regretting voicing her opinion.

“By all means, Granger, please,” Fred insisted, latching onto the throwaway comment. “What _is_ my type?”

Hermione blushed, suddenly very on the spot. She tried to wave him off. “Oh, I don’t know. I was just thinking aloud.”

“No, come on, let’s test you.” Fred gestured to her. “We’ve been getting along for quite a while now, haven’t we? You must have collected some Fred Facts in that huge head of yours.”

“My head is not huge!” Hermione said with a giggle.

“Who do you think you’re fooling with all that hair?” Fred patted the top of her head. “Big-brained Granger. Your knowledge cannot be contained.”

“Shut up,” Hermione laughed, rolling her eyes at him.

“Well, I think my type definitely isn’t huge-headed little know-it-alls.” Fred crossed his arms on the table. “Too snotty for me.”

“I am not snotty!”

“Hermione,” Fred tutted. “Who on _Earth_ said I was talking about _you_?”

Hermione huffed, quite fed up with this line of discussion. She glanced around the crowded pub, desperate to avoid Fred’s teasing stare. 

Hermione circled back around to avoid the subject. “You said Demetria told you off for stalking her?”

"I get how she feels now!” Fred nodded. “Having some fourth-year brat follow me around everywhere? Exhausting!" He knocked shoulders with her playfully.

"Hey!" Hermione wrinkled her nose at him, to which he laughed good-naturedly. "Who has been following _who_ around? I think it bears mentioning that the only reason we’re friends at all is that you cannot stand to leave me alone for even a second!"

Fred laughed and ran a hand through his hair. He looked at Hermione for a bit before speaking.

“I like being around you.”

Hermione paused at this instance of honesty. Fred was looking at her with a soft smile, very much not joking around. Hermione took a moment to consider this before responding.

“I… don’t mind having you around.” She said, very aware of the colour in her cheeks.

Fred leaned back to take a sip of his drink, a bit of pride showing on his ever-present smirk.

❖

They were in the Great Hall. A normal lunch, Fred’s group of friends gathered that afternoon with Harry and Ron joining the party, their feud finally forgiven. Hermione sat beside Harry and Ginny, with Ron on Harry’s left. Fred sat across from Hermione, bookended by Angelina and George. Katie and Alicia were recalling a disastrous mishap in Transfiguration that morning, as Lee was giving a very convincing imitation of the frog turned halfway to a parrot. Everyone was laughing and joking around the table. Even Angelina, who seemed to be in a rather sour mood, was giving Lee a chuckle. Hermione laughed loudly at a particularly realistic croak when Fred glanced over at her.

“Woah,” Fred paused, looking down at her arm. “Hermione...”

Hermione stopped mid-laugh, not realizing what he had seen.

“What’s up with your mark?” Fred reached out. Hermione hadn’t even considered what he was doing until it was too late. He held her wrist close to his face, warm fingertips touching her false mark. 

She quickly yanked her arm out of his grip. She’d forgotten to write it fresh today. The ink left on her skin was smudged and sloppy. She held her wrist, curled close to her and protected from view.

“Yeah?” Hermione swallowed, forcing a casual tone in her voice. “Er, what—what about it?” She looked it over, pretending to not see anything out of the ordinary.

Fred tilted his head and reached for her hand again. “It looks –”

Hermione jerked back away from his touch.

“Weird...” Fred finished, suspicion trailing into his voice.

“What? Oh, yes… That.” Hermione thought quickly. “I noticed that, too. I-I must have scratched it, or something.”

“What?” George had tuned into the scene. “You can’t scratch it.” He leaned in to get a glance at her wrist. Hermione pressed it harder against her chest. “It’s impervious” 

“Yeah, that’s why you can’t tattoo over ‘em or nothin’,” Ron added, joining the conversation casually. “Our uncle tried to once when he was having it out with our aunt. Tried to convince her that he’d read his mark wrong.”

“Ooh, yeah that was messy.” Ginny winced, adding her two cents. “ _Literally_ messy, his skin looked all black and scribbled everywhere but his mark. The thing stayed there, untouched. Now it’s real obvious that he tried to mess with it.”

“Hm.” Hermione thought fast, grabbing her bag. “Well, then I should probably get it checked out, yeah?” She stood quickly before anyone could protest.

“Are you sure?” Fred had also stood up, looking at Hermione with concern.

“I’ll go see Madam Pomfrey,” Hermione insisted, keeping the shrillness of her voice in check. “Don’t worry, I’ll be right back!” 

She ran out of the hall as fast as she could without causing a scene. There was a tight sensation in her throat, and she rounded the corner to catch her breath. She twisted her expression at her wrist, the faded ink seeming to mock her. Hermione balled her fist and made decisive steps in the direction of the common room.

She was getting too comfortable around him.

❖

A ball. There was going to be a ball. An actual, fairytale ball. It was even in a castle! Hermione felt like someone had reached into her childhood dreams and conjured up the most perfect scenario. If only she could feel the same enthusiasm for it as she would have when she was younger. Back then she dreamed of a prince on her arm. Now, Hermione stared at Fred as he and George gambolled around the common room. They were giving first years their practised sales pitch for Ton-Tongue Toffee. Hermione let out an exhausted sigh and stood to go scold them.

As the days before Christmas approached and the murmur of dresses and dates was all the talk of Gryffindor tower, Hermione felt dread with each overheard planning session.

Of course she wanted to go. But who would go with her? She had wasted so much time with Fred that she hadn’t given much thought to any other boys. Lee was nice, but for some reason, Hermione didn’t picture the Quidditch Commentator fitting the role very well. She doubted Harry and Ron would even want to go, and if they did they would just have a miserable time of it all. There was a nice-looking Hufflepuff boy that once shared a polite exchange with her in the halls, but besides that, Hermione was at a loss. 

She was mulling over her options as she sucked on a sugar quill in her favourite common room armchair. Fred sat beside her on the sofa, filling out some last-minute order forms before the holidays. George had gone to bed a while ago, so the two of them sat alone at the fire. A few other students stuck around in clusters around them, finishing up homework or discussing the dance. Hermione tried her best to tune those out, but one more excited squeal from Lavender brought her teeth to bite down hard on the sweet in her mouth.

“Will they—” Hermione hissed in the direction of her and her friends. “—Shut _up_ about what colour dress they’re going to pick? Lavender is a _spring_ , she knows she’s not even _considering_ wearing orange.”

Fred popped his head up from his paper at Hermione’s words. He cocked a grin and watched her ball up the piece of paper she’d been writing on. 

“Been keeping that one bottled up for a while now, huh?” He said.

“I’m sorry.” Hermione groaned and ran her fingers through her curly hair. “I’m just… So sick of all this talk of the Yule Ball.”

Fred chuckled. “Yeah, it’s gotten everyone pretty crazy.” He looked over at Parvati as she showed off the new bangles her mother had sent her. “Everyone coupling up, flinging themselves at their soulmates.”

“If only it were that easy…” Hermione mused aloud, not really thinking.

“Tell me about it,” Fred said. Hermione pushed away the twinge in her stomach. 

Fred folded his papers and returned them to his bag. “Are you going with anyone?”

Hermione shook her head. “That’s what I was just lamenting over.” She sighed. “Maybe I’ll just go alone.”

“What if I asked you?”

There was a rush of warmth to Hermione’s face. She looked at Fred in disbelief. “What?”

“What if I asked you to the Yule Ball?” He repeated, tone far too casual for such a bold question.

Hermione knitted her eyebrows at him. “I think I’d need to get your head checked for flobberworms.”

“Is it so crazy?” He gave a light chuckle.

“Yes!” Hermione laughed in hopes of diluting the red in her cheeks. “You and I are hardly on those terms.”

“Oh,” Fred started. “And what terms are we on, Granger?”

“I don’t—” She could not fight the smile on her face. She took a breath. “I don’t know, but it’s certainly not the kind to be attending a ball together.”

“Why not? We’re friendly, aren’t we?” Fred played into her embarrassment. “Who better to go with, than a friend?”

“Oh, ‘friends’, are we?”

“You said so yourself!”

“And I said that with such tentative consideration that you insisting to take me as a _joke_ certainly won’t—”

“Who said it was a joke?”

Hermione faltered, taking in his deliberately unphased expression.

“Of course it’s a joke,” Hermione said.

“I wasn’t joking.”

“Really.” Hermione crossed her arms.

“Really.” Fred looked at her. “I would ask you,”

Hermione glared at him. She took in his smug demeanour. His erratic freckles, the curve of his jaw. The quirk of his lip as he regarded her with a look like he was considering a rather compelling potion recipe. The writing on her arm seemed to pulse the longer he stared into her eyes.

Hermione swallowed and found her voice firmly. “You won’t ask me.” She decided, turning back to her homework.

Fred shrugged dramatically, pulling his bag over his shoulder. “I guess we’ll just have to wait and see, then.” Fred had a cunning knack for finding exactly the right way to smirk at her and send her heart pounding. Hermione hated that he did that so easily.

“G’night, Hermione,” Fred told her simply before leaving her alone in front of the fire.

❖

Having new people interrupt her in the library was unusual. She’d gotten used to Fred and George frequently worming their way into her study time, but as she sat with Ginny, going over her Transfiguration homework, the last person she expected to approach was Viktor Krum.

The Quidditch star stood tall, and Ginny stared up at him with a starstruck expression.

“Hello,” He spoke in a deep voice.

Just a simple word. Unquestionable. Hermione felt Ginny clasp her arm but it was unnecessary. She knew what she was so excited about. The faux mark on her wrist displayed it clear enough.

❖

“HER MARK!” Ginny was shouting.

Katie and Angelina looked just as shocked as Hermione. The table was crowded with her friends. Lee was listening intently as George looked on in surprise.

“ _Viktor Krum_ is your _soulmate?”_ Katie kept a hushed tone.

“No _way_ ,” Alicia gasped, taking hold of Hermione’s wrist.

Hermione pulled the hem of her sleeve to cover her arm. “Now, we don’t know that,” Hermione insisted. “My soul mark is generic, it could really be anyone.”

“Well, what’s his mark?” Angelina said.

“What?” Hermione turned to her.

“Didn’t you ask?” Alicia said.

“No. No, I didn’t. Should I have?”

“Hermione!” Katie rolls her head back in disbelief. “A handsome Quidditch Star says your mark and you just _didn’t mention it?_ ”

“I don’t know!” Hermione flustered. “It just all happened so fast, and he was asking me to the ball, and—”

“What?” Fred spoke up. “He asked you?”

Hermione looked at Fred. Making eye contact with him felt difficult. He’d been keeping very quiet this whole time, nearly ignoring the conversation entirely, until she had said that. 

“Er,” Hermione swallowed. “Yes, he did.”

“You didn’t… you didn’t say yes, did you?” Fred asked her. His eyes guarded more than they conveyed. Hermione could swear he almost looked…hurt.

“I…” Hermione found her words stuck in the back of her throat.

“Of course she said yes!” Alicia spoke up. “Haven’t you been listening? He’s her _soulmate._ ”

“It was just a coincidence,” Hermione was blushing beet red. “I don’t think he’s my soulmate.”

“But why not wait and see?” Katie beamed at her. “If anything, it should be a fun night with an _amazing_ Quidditch player!”

“I think that matters a lot more to you, K,” Angelina laughed. “Hermione’s not really the Quidditch type.”

“Still, he’s so handsome!” Katie defended. “Oh, Hermione, have a good time, will you? For me? You did say yes, right?”

“Yeah, I… I said yes.” Hermione wanted to hide in her hair. The girls around her squealed. Hermione caught a glimpse of Fred, who had taken to staring at a coffee stain on the table.

This was not how she planned on spending her Christmas break.

❖

Hermione ran into Fred in the library the night before the Yule Ball. He’d been curled into a potions book and barely glanced up at her arrival. 

“Hey.” He greeted her rigidly.

Hermione stood awkwardly before him, not quite feeling comfortable enough to sit beside him. She settled for a seat on the opposite end of the table.

“So…” She tapped her fingers on the wood. “Ball’s tomorrow...” 

“S’pose it is.” Fred’s tone was tight. He glanced up at her through his hair. 

She felt her legs anxiously bounce as the air between them grew thicker. She let out a shaky breath and twisted a knot of her hair.

“Everyone’s making such a huge fuss over this whole Viktor thing…” Hermione cringed at her tactlessness. Fred made a noise of vague acknowledgement.

Hermione felt her fingers shake. “I really don’t think… It’s, y’know, a big deal.”

“What do you want from me, Hermione?” Fred looked up at her fully, his expression blunt and unwelcoming.

Hermione seemed to quiver under his stare. “I didn’t know he was going to ask me.”

“Okay,” Fred said.

“Everything was just happening all at once, and Ginny was all excited and…” Hermione was left to trail her excuses. 

“It’s fine.” Fred insisted, voice a bit too casual. 

“It’s not like I planned it, or anything,” Hermione didn’t know why she was feeling so defensive. Fred wasn’t really going to ask her, was he? Why did she care anyway? 

Fred scoffed at her, and Hermione felt blood rush to her ears.

“You hadn’t even asked me!” Hermione shot at him with a bit more frustration than she should have.

Fred looked up at her and seemed to bite his tongue. His eyebrows twisted together and he looked at her for a moment that felt too long and too suffocating.

“Hermione,” He spoke, and he sounded very far away. “I told you, it’s fine. I’ve asked Ange to go with me.”

“Oh.”

“So go, have fun,” Fred told her. “You don’t need to worry about this.”

Hermione wanted to ask him what “this” even was. Why she felt like she had stuck a hot iron rod in his chest. Why it hurt so much to look at him right now.

Hermione felt the pull of an old resentment blister. She recognized this Fred. Bitter, distrusting. It’s like they were back where they started. The months of their burgeoning trust suddenly discarded, Hermione looked at Fred and felt like crying.

She didn’t say anything. And he left her alone again.

❖

Aside from the obvious complication of dates and boys and bitter friends, there was another huge problem that kept Hermione awake that night before the ball. Her dress, which lay tucked away and neatly folded in the trunk at the foot of her bed, was nearly sleeveless.

Now, this wasn’t a matter of prudeness. She actually thought the cut her mother had picked out for her was quite flattering. The biggest problem was how literally exposed she felt while wearing it, specifically the area clearly displayed in the centre of her forearm. 

Her soul mark was unmistakably present. No robes to cover up the black ink, Hermione doubted she would be able to keep it hidden. Surely arriving at the ball with her arms planted firmly against her sides would make dancing quite difficult. Hermione’s exhaustive research into soul marks—a scarce collection of outdated tomes and cheeky tabloids with information as trustworthy as Divination books—was no help in telling her how to _hide_ them.

Any sort of shall or scarf she could wrap around herself ran the risk of falling off or being caught on something that she daren’t even consider the option. And she doubted she would be able to pull off any sort of armband.

With no spell to disguise it and no accessory to hide it, Hermione felt so much dread that she had a hard time swallowing her breakfast. Her misery around the situation seemed to leave her the only choice of ditching the ball altogether. She was even considering asking the twins for some of their Fever Fudge to get out of going before remembering the many, many reasons why she couldn’t do that.

The Great Hall was filled with the excited anticipation of the coming evening. Hermione hadn’t slept the night before and was feeling increasingly nausea with the whirlwind of excited voices all around her. Groups of students jumped around tables to plan their dress robes, discuss partners, and overall enjoy the festivities of a much-needed celebration. As Hermione strode down the Gryffindor table, she avoided the clump of friends notably missing one particular redhead. She walked past Katie and Angelina—who Hermione had a bit of difficulty feeling happy to see—and sat beside Ron at her usual spot.

He and Harry greeted her, looking just as sick as she felt. Hermione had been so wrapped up in her own worries that she hadn’t even considered how the boys were handling all of this. They were still dateless, though neither of them had to worry about betraying friends or covering up their marks. Still, Hermione listened to their maladies.

“This is the worst.” Ron stabbed at his hash. 

Harry made a noise of agreement as his cheek rested on his palm.

“How many girls at this school? Plus the other two?” Ron let out a daunted breath. “We’re hopeless.”

Harry shrugged and swirled around the pumpkin juice in his glass.

“Any chance you would go with one of us, Hermione?” Ron asked her in a defeated tone.

“Don’t sound too excited.” She chuckled at him. 

“Ah, I don’t mean it like that,” Ron waved her off. “It’s just… You’re a girl.”

“Astute observation, Ronald.”

“And if you’re not going with anyone, you may as well.”

“As flattering as that is,” Hermione crossed her arms on the table. “I can’t help you out. I already have a date.”

“Do you really?” Harry asked her.

“No, you don’t.” Ron scoffed.

“I do!” 

“Oh yeah? Who are you going with?”

“Erm, it’s a surprise…” Hermione offered, fearing the boys’ reaction if they found out she’d be ditching Viktor Krum at the ball.

“C’mon, Hermione, it’s us,” Ron assured her, leaning in at a whisper. “If you haven’t got a date, you can tell us.”

“I have! I just…” Hermione bit her lip. “I’m actually not feeling very well. I might not go at all.”

“That’s just sad,” Ron said to Harry. “I know we’re not anyone’s first choice, but you don’t have to fake ill just to get out of going with us.”

“I’m not!” She laughed at him. “I told you, I’m already going with someone.”

“Sure, sure, Hermione…” Ron shrugged, letting out a dramatic sigh. “Alright,” he clasped his hands together then put two fingers on his temples. “Think, Harry, what are our options?"

"Are you tapping into your mental archives?” Hermione smirked.

"What, it's not like we know a lot of other Gryffindor girls!” Ron defended. “Alicia's alright but I think George is going with her since Oliver’s already graduated. Angelina always looks one move away from smacking me upside the head, so there's no way of that happening…"

"Can't ask Ginny," Harry added.

"Why can't you?" Hermione turned to Harry, giving him a judgemental look.

"Well, I mean, Ron can't." Harry covered quickly.

Hermione rolled her eyes. Harry had been weird about Ginny ever since Ginny had told him they were soulmates. Apparently, he had some reservations about her being the sister of his best friend, among other vague excuses. Ginny had told Hermione all this during a tearful night in Gryffindor Tower last year, swearing that she refused to let it keep her down.

"Well, you couldn't ask her anyway," Hermione said, buttering her toast. "She's already going with Neville."

"Now I _know_ you're full of it." Ron took a bite of his croissant.

Hermione shook her head and continued gathering her thoughts for the morning. Still torn up over her own problem, she tried to remember if there had been any methods in covering up her soul mark that she hadn’t tested out yet. Maybe she would be able to use a minor transfiguration spell? No, all the ones she'd tried in the past weren't any help at all...

“D’you reckon Lavender and Parvati have dates already?” Harry spoke.

“Lavender and Parvati!” Hermione slammed her fork against her plate, making Harry and Ron jump in surprise.

“Merlin, Hermione no need to get so excited,” Ron chuckled at her.

“No, it’s not…” Hermione shook her head, mind racing as her plan formed before her eyes. “That… that’s a great idea, Harry!”

Harry twisted his expression at her. “It is?”

“Yes, it is!” Hermione quickly began gathering her things. “I can go talk to them for you!” 

“Really?” Harry had his eyebrows raised, taken aback by her enthusiasm.

“What, right now?” Ron asked, just as confused by Hermione’s excitement to talk with the two girls she had had a historic distaste for.

“Yes!” Hermione rose from the table, Harry’s pumpkin juice nearly spilling with her frantic movements. “I’ll go talk to them. Why didn’t I think of it before?”

She left her best friends behind her in stunned silence.

Ron looked to Harry as the bounce of her curls rounded the door. 

“Since when has she been so enthusiastic about our personal lives?”

Hermione nearly sprinted out of the hall to catch up with them. Lavender and Parvati had just rounded the corner when Hermione called out for them to wait.

“What do you want?” Lavender looked Hermione up and down with her usual amount of thinly veiled dislike. 

“I… I need a favour.” Hermione took a moment to catch her breath.

She and Parvati shared a look. Parvati crossed her arms. “Go on, then,”

“Do you two have any muggle cosmetics? Specifically, like… concealer?” Hermione recalled the advertisements she’d watch over the summer at her parent’s house. 

“Why?” Lavender asked. “Got something unsightly?”

“Yes.” Hermione thought quickly. “There’s a… mole I need covered up, you know, for the ball.”

Lavender scrunched her nose up. 

“Why should we help you, Granger?” Parvati asked matter-of-factly. 

“I don’t know, I just thought…” Hermione gathered her approach. “You two always have makeup on, around your eyes and stuff, and… you really have a knack for it; it’s always so pretty.”

“What are you playing at, Granger?” Lavender asked, suspicious.

“Nothing, I, er…” Hermione recalibrated, opening up. “Look, I really want this night to be perfect. I’ve tried everything.” Some of Hermione’s genuine desperation crept into her voice. “Please, I need your help.”

Parvati and Lavender considered her then shared a look. Parvati sighed and opened a small pouch on the side of her bag. She brought out a vial of tawny liquid.

“Here.” Parvati handed the small bottle to Hermione plainly. “Use mine. It’ll be easier to match your skin tone. I use a simple colour-changing charm to get the right shade. This stuff is so effective, you only need a dab of it to work out. I’ve got a birthmark on my neck I always need to cover up.”

Hermione smiled wide. “Thank you so much,” she clutched the bottle. “You have no idea how much this means to me. Thank you both.” She looked from Parvati to Lavender, whose surly expressions had softened. “I owe you one.”

Lavender snorted. “I’ll be holding you to that, Granger.” She tightened her posture. “I… hope you have fun.” The words felt strained, but Hermione could tell Lavender’s offer of kindness was genuine. 

She smiled once more. “Thanks. You too.”

Lavender nodded, and she and Parvati turned on their heels. 

“Oh!” Hermione spoke up, nearly forgetting her guise to come talk to them in the first place. “That reminds me,”

The girls turned back, looking to Hermione expectantly. 

“Harry and Ron don’t have dates yet.”

Lavender snorted. “I’m already going with Seamus Finnigan,”

Parvati considered this for a moment and told Hermione, “I’ll ask Padma if she would want to take them.”

“Really?” Hermione said gratefully.

“Yeah, I suppose it would be better than going hen.” Parvati shrugged. “Tell Harry to pick me up at six-thirty.”

She beamed as the two girls left her in the hall.

Hermione thumbed the bottle of concealer, feeling hope radiate all around her.

❖

The Yule Ball brought new life to the towering columns of the Great Hall. The glittering snow shone brightly in Hermione’s eyes and she felt captivated by the castle in a whole new way. All weight seemed to be lifted from her shoulders as she stepped in pretty shoes, in her pretty dress, down the stairs to the ballroom. She felt the stares as she smiled at her escort. Viktor Krum extended his arm to her, and she took it in a mirror of his formality. A dazzling image of royalty, Hermione felt right into place beside her prince.

The crowd of people should have been enough. Hermione should not have been able to make out anyone among the sea of milling students. She should not have noticed him, blending into the commotion and innocuous.

But Fred’s eyes were the first thing she saw. Immediately she was caught in his gaze, and in an instant they were alone. The buzz of the hall disappeared, and she stood staring at Fred Weasley. 

She thought he looked handsome, a thought that came to Hermione so easily it scared her. His dress robes neat, his hair tidier than normal, Hermione realised she had never seen just how tall he could stand. How easily he took up confident space. 

He looked all as upset as when she last saw him. The memory of their fight—no, it wasn’t a fight… their _reset_ —brought tears to threaten the carefully applied makeup around her eyes. He stared at her, a cold expression glazing over his features. Fred’s eyes betrayed him. Barely there, hiding it and defended, Fred was… sad.

There was a tug on Hermione’s arm and suddenly she was back among a crowd of people. Viktor led her down the steps, parting through couples and passing through. Hermione felt the burn of Fred’s gaze on her back. She dared another look over her shoulder, but suddenly couldn’t spot him and felt like a lifeline had been cut. Hermione steeled herself, returning her eyes straight ahead and ignoring the new sensation in her stomach.

The rest of the evening was inevitable in its delightfulness. She danced, her dress flowing and following the pattern of their steps. Viktor led her around the room with elegance. His contented smile kept her afloat all the while. Her feet glided, the room spun, and everyone seemed to glow around her in blissful energy. This was fun; this lovely fairy tale.

❖

Fred was trying very hard not to step on Angelina’s toes. He’d been doing alright and kept track of his footing while they danced along with the rest of the crowd. He felt it, that tug in his stomach that kept luring his eyes towards those curls of hair and periwinkle dress. Hermione danced around the room, elation gracing her features. He decided that he liked it very much when she smiled.

"Why didn’t you ask her?" Angelina’s voice was blunt.

Fred looked at his dancing partner and gave a halfhearted laugh. “Was I that obvious?”

“Please,” Angelina tutted. “She’s too good for you, y’know.”

“Oh, believe me, I know.” Fred chuckled. “And I almost did. Ask her, that is. Actually got the words out of my mouth, can you believe it? But I had to be cheeky about it and pose it like a hypothetical. Slipped right through my fingers after that.”

“You’re such an idiot.”

“I’m starting to agree with you more and more these days,” Fred gave her a twirl in step with their dancing.

The light of the hall illuminated the golden beads woven into Angelina’s hair. “I don’t see why you can’t just be honest with her. Who cares if she’s not your soulmate?”

“Are you kidding?” Fred wrinkled his brow. “Since when has this stuff been easy?”

Angelina gave an agreeable nod. “I suppose you’re right.”

“Speaking of which,” Fred’s voice was low. “I’m sorry about Katie.”

Angelina’s expression shifted sourly. “It’s fine.”

“Ange.” Fred looked into her eyes. “I know it’s not.”

She gave Fred a look of tired resignation. 

“It sucks.” She admitted.

Fred nodded once, leading her into a twirl. “Yeah. It does.” The music played on.

“Look at us.” Angelina stepped in time with him. “Two idiots in minstrel’s clothes.”

“That’s not being fair,” he said. “Idiots though we may be, I know for a fact we’ve never looked this good.”

She laughed.“I’d rather be in uniform.”

“You and the crown prince over there,” Fred tilted his head at Krum.

“Is he actually royalty, or are you just being snotty?”

“Mostly snotty.” Fred stepped with the rhythm.

“And a Quidditch star to boot,” Angelina shook her head. “Man, you never stood a chance.”

“Hermione doesn’t care about Quidditch,” Fred said. He looked at the girl dancing across the hall. She nearly glowed.

The crowd carried on. The room was a blur of silvers and blues. The icicles shone from the ceiling and Fred felt the chill of snow on his neck. The brightest star of the night danced her way in careless bliss around the hall. Hermione fit the role so perfectly, elegant and lovely. She deserved nothing less.

“Do you think he’s her soulmate?” Angelina asked Fred in a voice low and considerate.

Fred continued to stare at Hermione’s dimpled cheeks and pretty smile. She looked so happy that he thought he could feel the cloud she danced upon.

“No.”

Angelina considered that. She did not broach the subject again.

❖

Hermione’s feet hurt. She’d walked up to Gryffindor tower alone, having said her goodnights to Viktor in the hall. She felt the full rush of emotions the past few days had forced upon her in a rampage of dissatisfaction. She needed to curl up and sleep. Too bad the only person left in the common room when she arrived was the last one she wanted to see.

"Fun night?"

Fred's voice cut through the buzz in Hermione's mind. She startled, the ringlets of her hair bouncing as she raised her head. Fred's long limbs curled over the armchair with his exhausted form. His tie hung loosely around his neck as if it, too, was tired from the long night. He looked up at Hermione through his eyelashes and Hermione felt as though she was being measured. She was suddenly very aware of how untidied her hair had gotten.

"I..." Hermione caught up to the question he had asked her."It was lovely, yes."

"Hm." The noise came from the back of his throat. Fred swung his legs off the chair and rose to stand before her. Hermione noted his height, always his height. Always too tall and too close to her. 

"I'm glad." He ran a hand along his face with another smile that didn't quite meet his eyes.

"Were you... waiting for me?" Hermione felt a small rush of embarrassment flush her cheeks.

"Nah, er," Fred gestured vaguely to the portrait hole. "Georgie's still out. I promised Oliver I'd report back if Alicia got too fresh with him."

"Ah," Hermione nodded, looking back at the quiet entry. "Of course..."

They stood there in heavy stalemate. Hermione clutched the hem of her dress as Fred rocked onto the heels of his shoes. She wanted to talk to him, wanted their conversations to flow normally again. She wanted him to say something stupid and for herself to be able to offer a witty retort. She wanted light again, she wanted easy. Fred stood before her and she felt heavy.

"Angelina have a good time?" Hermione asked with an awkward restraint.

"Yeah, she did." Fred rubbed the back of his neck. "You know how she is, though, hard to get her in a dress."

Hermione chuckled. The sound seemed small in the space between them. "Yeah, I know..."

After a moment of pause that seemed to drag on far too long, Hermione added. "And you?"

"Hm?"

"Did you enjoy it?"

"The dress? Nah, didn't quite fit me."

The laugh they shared carried a halfhearted breath. Fred caught her eye and Hermione felt that weight upon her again. 

"I enjoyed the ball, yeah," Fred answered with a small smile. "Bit of a tosser if I didn't."

"Right, it was... really something."

They stood for a moment longer, and Hermione wondered just how long two people could go without breathing.

"I'm sorry I didn't ask you," Fred spoke suddenly, catching Hermione mid-thought.

"What?" She tilted her head.

"To the ball. I'm sorry I didn't ask you in time." Fred admitted, humbled. "I should have."

"Oh." Hermione's voice tightened. "No, it's alright. I didn't think you were serious, anyway."

Fred scoffed to himself, rolling his neck back as if cursing his own stupidity. 

"I told you, I was serious."

Hermione let out a small scoff. She began to move past him. "Obviously not."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Fred turned to her, a bit affronted.

"It just means that I knew better than to expect you to actually follow through.” Hermione found the bitterness in her voice, suddenly very tired of all this.

Fred’s expression fell. He stepped in front of her. “I told you I was sorry, Hermione.” He knit his eyebrows together. “I was an idiot, I would have taken you.”

"If that were the case, then why was it I went with Viktor and not you?" Hermione felt heat filling her face.

"I don't know," Fred's voice was rising to meet hers. "Why don't you tell me, since you're the one who said yes to him?”

"And why shouldn't I have?" Hermione’s anger climbed. “He’s charming, and is actually upfront with his intentions!”

“That’s not fair,” Fred defended.

“Oh, how so?” Hermione twisted her eyebrows together. “Is it too much to ask for a bit of honesty from another person?”

"If you were going to go with any Quidditch-playing meathead, I would have prefered it to be me."

Hermione found herself feeling insulted.

"Oh, of course. Merlin forbid anyone keep _Fred Weasley_ away from what he wants.”

“Would you listen to yourself?” Fred held out his hands. Hermione huffed. “You’ve got this twisted idea of me in your head. You always have! Why is it so hard to believe that I might not fit the category you’ve shoved me into?”

“Because you keep proving me right!”

“No,” Fred shook his head. “No, Hermione. You keep proving _yourself_ right.”

Hermione bit her tongue. She turned on her heel, fully intending to head upstairs and abandon him on the spot.

“I’ve been trying.” Fred’s voice was strained as he called to her. “I’ve been nice to you, and we get along. I don’t understand why you continue to be so stubborn about letting me in!”

"Then please, enlighten me, Weasley." She turned on him, her hair whipping around her face. "If I’m so _stubborn_ , then why do you even bother?"

"Because you’re brilliant!" Fred shouted. He continued with a rushed fervour like at any moment someone would stop him. “And fun! And I like the way you talk to me! I like being your friend!”

Fred looked like he had just caught his breath. Hermione stared at him. His face was flushed. It made the freckles on his face rose-coloured. He calmed himself, gathering his emotions. 

“You're the only one who can keep up with me, Hermione." As he said her name, his gaze darted away like his brain had suddenly caught up to his mouth. 

Fred ran his fingers through his hair and spoke to a spot on the floor. "I don't really get it, I mean... We've been at each other's throats for years and I know you're angry with nearly everything I do, but I can't shake the feeling that... I'm drawn to you—as a friend." He added the last part quickly as if covering up his words. "Like we’re meant to be. You know. Friends."

Hermione felt a bit like someone had ripped a rug out from under her feet. She stared at Fred, and Hermione had the fleeting thought that the space between them was much too large. She felt a sensation in her arm like her mark was pulling her closer to him. But she stayed rooted in place. Her heart pounded, she daren’t move. She looked at Fred and the words out of her mouth flowed at their own accord.

“I feel the same way.”

Fred let out a breath. His eyebrows fell to a softened expression. Hermione swallowed.

“I’m sorry.” She felt a weight slide off her chest. “I haven’t been giving you a fair chance.”

“It’s alright.” Fred shook his head. “I’ve been stupid.”

“I have been _way_ stupider,” Hermione admitted.

“With that huge head of yours?” Fred smiled. “No way.”

Hermione laughed with him, and she felt easy.

❖

Things were… different with Fred now.

Since the late-night talk of what Hermione could only describe as a confession, they were a bit skittish around each other. They were just as friendly as before, of course, but something was...off.

Fred wouldn’t touch her anymore. She hated to admit that she’d absolutely grown accustomed to his arm around her shoulder, or hand on her back. Now when they sat together in a group, Fred was very careful to allow her personal space. 

Hermione wasn’t as snarky with him. In discussions, she found herself letting a few jokes slide past without a single comment to adorn them. Fred noticed. He would look to her, expecting her wit to ride the end of his interjection. He would cough to slide over the pause and carry on his conversation with the rest of his friends.

They were rarely alone anymore. Hermione had never noticed how empty the library felt before.

It was a week into their newfound dynamic before anything was done about it. 

Fred returned to the common room one night with George. Hermione was sat in an armchair, smiling and waving at their entrance. They returned the greeting and George began heading upstairs to bed. Fred paused, telling George he could go on ahead of him. Hermione felt a thud in her chest as Fred moved to sit next to her on the sofa.

"So,” He started, leaning close to her. “We're acting _weird_ , right?"

Hermione felt like a bubble had popped.

"Merlin, _so weird_." Her shoulders relaxed with the laugh that escaped her.

"I don't know about you, but I would prefer it if we stopped being so awkward around each other, yeah?"

"I would definitely prefer that."Hermione smiled back at him.

"No reason why we can't just go back to the normal state of things!"

"I think we got along much better when you were driving me up the wall."

“I can _certainly_ return to that. What d’you need? I’m sure I’ve got something in my bag that you can chide me off for.”

“Let’s start there.” Hermione agreed, feeling like a warm blanket had returned to wrap around them.

❖

She breached water to an uproar of celebration. As she was pulled from the lake, onto the docks of the Champion’s starting point, Hermione sputtered out water and felt a whirl of confusion surrounding her. People were cheering, shouting, calling Viktor’s name. Hermione looked around to get her bearings among the crowd but was nearly blindsided by the sudden pull on her shoulders.

Fred was grabbing her. He pulled her into a tight hug. There were dozens of people surrounding them, and Fred was the only thing she saw. 

“Merlin, Hermione.” He mumbled against her. He drew back. “That was so—” he swore, “—terrifying!”

Hermione found her breath and laughed. “I’m alright, Fred, Dumbledore told me what was going to happen—”

“Yeah, but we didn’t know!” Fred exclaimed. At this, George emerged from the crowd to pull Hermione into his own hug. 

“Thought you were a goner!” George told her, relief matching his brother’s.

“ _Mer-lin_ ,” Fred moved in again to hold Hermione even tighter. “I nearly had a heart attack at sixteen! Look what you’ve reduced me to, Granger.” He moved to show her his shaking hands.

“What about Ron?” Hermione giggled at Fred’s theatrics. 

“Oh, Ron’s down there too?” George said, leaning over the edge to peer into the murky water.

❖

There was dread in the air by the end of term. No one celebrating the summer, or even smiling over breakfast. Cedric was dead. And Voldemort killed him. No one was safe anymore.

Hermione felt shaky as she folded up her things to leave. With her trunk locked tight and faux mark tidy, Hermione clung to the small amount of control it brought her. Things were worse now. She could not be so casual about letting people into her life. She needed to prepare for the worst.


End file.
